Sometimes you Lose - Reason to Die
by nurzubesuch
Summary: Some cases just never end and some people never stop until everyone on their list is dead. And maybe it is worth the sacrifice of a single life to finally bring justice to the world. At least, that's what Javert always believed ... Sequel to Reason to Live. You should read that one first.
1. Heat in the Dark

**Hello back, dear friends. If you haven´t read my first story of this … should I already call it series? Not sure if I´ll write a third one so let´s not jump ahead. But either way, there´s a story prior to this one. Reason to Live – Reason to Fight. You REALLY should read that one first or the reality of this story won´t make much sense to you. And even if you don´t bother at all, you might still enjoy reading it ;-)**

**Having said this, I´ll leave you now to the story.**

**Disclaimer: Les Miserables does not belong to me. It existed long before I was born. The characters of the 2012 movie, on which this story is based, and their personalities belong to their respective actors, Jackman, Crowe, Seyfried and all the others. Without their take on Les Mis this story wouldn´t have been written. On that note: Thanks guys for giving me this story. It was a lot of fun and I wouldn´t wanna miss it anymore.  
**

* * *

**Heat in the Dark**

There was a fire burning in Paris. Crackling noise of flames eating their way through dry wood and old stones. And in the usually silent night those sounds got mixed with the most desperate cries. Screams of those still trapped inside, cries of those who had made it out and were forbidden to go back inside, to save their loved ones. Only the firewards were allowed to get close to those flames. Those brave men and their wagons, fully equipped with pumps and gallons and gallons of water. But even with that they could do nothing for those who hadn´t made it out in time.

It wasn´t the first fire of the kind that brightened the nights of Paris. There had been another one, not too long ago. Not quite as big as this one though. It had started in one house of the street, but the wind was strong that night and the old buildings had caught the fire quickly. Soon the whole side of the street was blazing. There was no way to save those buildings anymore, everyone could see that, so all the firemen could do, was to use all the water that they had to keep the rest of the city to burn down as well.

It took them all night, and many of those who had screamed, pushed and kicked to be let through, were too tired by now, be it from all their crying or from simple exhaustion. The crying was still there, but it had subsided to a faint background noise. As if even mourning and pain had given way to acceptance, no matter how painful it was. Those people were crying for their lost homes, their loved ones who had perished in the fire. But they knew it was over, that God had taken every hope from them, and that knowledge alone made them succumb. Not few of them had broken down and were brought to the hospital for treatment. Even less remained till the first beams of sunlight chased away the darkness of this night.

Javert stood among them, watching quietly, waiting patiently – what choice did he have anyway? – and in the midst of all these people, he barely stood out. Barely. Still he caught the eye of one young police man, one of those who kept the people away from the still burning remains of this street.

Javert noticed the gaze. It wasn´t simply a checking gaze of one who made sure no one would slip through the road block. No this one was meant for him, and him alone. He had been recognized, and he could tell by the frown on this man´s forehead that it was not for the best.

Dammit, Valjean, where the hell are you? Show yourself already. I know you´re around here somewhere.

He probably knew that Javert would strangle him, as soon as he showed his face. But this was something he had to spare for later. Right now he was discovered and he really had no intention to explain to anyone, especially the police, why he was here, watching while a whole street was burning to the ground.

The sun was rising, way too fast over the roofs of Paris, only to reveal the real terror of what had happened that night. Skeletons where once had been houses. Black beams, the only remains of what once had been someone´s home. Crippled bodies of those who had not made it out, their arms and legs thin like toothpicks, their skin black like coals, fingers crooked like claws and mouths open to silent screams, revealing rows of teeth as if you were looking at a skull. No face was left to be recognized, barely any clothes left to identify those who got carried out of this hell on earth. It was the worst thing Javert had ever seen in his entire life.

Maybe we should have left the city, he thought. While we still could. Maybe if we had stayed away, none of this would have happened. We could have gone back to _her_ home, instead of Paris. Just maybe.

Those were his thoughts when he walked away at last. Too slow to get away. Too deeply into his own thoughts, to remember the watchful glance he´d seen earlier. He´d almost forgotten about it, until someone stepped into his way.

"Inspector." the young officer addressed him, and Javert glanced up, startled.

"I´m not with the police anymore." he stated flatly, but the young man merely raised a brow.

"I only wanted to be polite."

Javert suddenly found himself surrounded. He knew the procedure, enough to know what was happening. "What is this?" he asked anyway.

"You are under arrest." the young officer told him, while he was taken by both arms.

"What for?" Javert demanded to know, but this time he didn´t get any answer. They led him away in silent efficiency, and after this night he was just too tired to struggle.

**...**

The interrogation room looked still the same. Still the way he remembered it, from last time when he had been in here, to question a suspect. And it hadn´t been just some other room like this one, it had been this very room. Only last time he´d been on the other side of the table. He´d been good at those interrogations once. Now he would learn how good he was in being interrogated.

They let him wait. A typical trick to wear the suspect out. But not enough. Javert knew they were impatient as well. Maybe even more than he was. But what they didn´t know was, that impatience really wasn´t much of an issue anymore. Not for him. Not after this night.

When the door got opened, he was ready. But so was the man standing in the door.

Javert knew him. His name was Deguire and he remembered him as a good police man. Well, it would remain to be seen how good.

"Javert." Deguire started, and Javert instantly took over.

"Why am I here?" he demanded to know.

Deguire didn´t even flinch. He only looked at him. "I think you know that quite well."

Javert held the gaze. No, it said. He didn´t know. If Deguire was in on this irrational hate against him, after he´d played a role in getting some police men arrested for their part in a certain conspiracy last year, he would be really disappointed with the man.

Eventually Deguire took a step towards him.

"There have been two big fires in this city lately." he recalled, as if Javert could possibly be unaware of that fact. "And each time you have been seen when it happened. That is a little too much of a coincidence. Don´t you think?"

Javert´s hands clutched, invisible to Deguire, under the table. "It wasn´t coincidence." he admitted and for a moment Deguire seemed caught off guard.

"So you admit that you set the fires?"

"No."

"You just said …"

"I said it wasn´t coincidence that I was there." Javert held the gaze, unyielding. "I was working a case."

The other man halted, only for a second. "You are not with the police any longer."

At those words, something started to boil inside the former inspector´s chest. "I must say I don´t really regret this." he hissed, through gritted teeth, making the other man glare right back at him.

"You´re not really helping your case here." he warned.

"I don´t?"

"What were you really doing at those fire scenes?"

"I told you I was working a case."

"You´re not …"

"I work for Eugene Vidocq." Javert cut the discussion short. It was ridiculous to keep this up any longer. Not with the police: meaning, argumentum e contrario, he couldn´t do his duty. Simple. God, had he been this way once too? It almost hurt thinking of that.

Deguire only snorted. "Private investigators. How low can you go? You used to be a good inspector."

Javert didn´t give a response. He settled with a glare, needing all his strength to keep his mouth shut and spare his energy for the more important part of the conversation.

"What kind of a case was that?" Deguire asked at last.

Javert lowered his gaze. "That´s … difficult."

"Try me."

The former inspector glanced up again. "I´d rather not."

This at last caused a startled frown on the officer´s side, a not unwelcome distraction, even if it lasted only for a moment.

"Being on the payroll of a former criminal that claims to do police work, does not allow you to meddle in official business." Deguire tried to come back to the point. "Whatever you did, you were acting outside of the law. And you know what sort of matter that is."

Javert was still glaring at this man. "So you´ll throw me in prison?" he asked. "On what charges?"

"Committing arson. Interference with police work …"

"I didn´t interfere with anything."

"You left a stolen carriage in front of our station-house. Or do you deny that this note was written by your hand?" Deguire held up a letter, one that Javert recognized only too well. He´d torn it out of Valjean´s notebook, only last night.

"No, I wrote that." he admitted freely, and glanced up at Deguire, asking. "Did you catch them?"

"The smugglers? Oh, we found them. Exactly where you told us. What brings me to the question … how, inspector, did you know where we would find a whole ring of organized smugglers and thieves? Are you socializing with these people now?"

Javert was boiling again, but lowered his eyes. It wouldn´t do any good at all, if he allowed Deguire to lure him into an argument that would inevitably end up being about Valjean. So he willed his anger away and stated merely: "I came upon them working the case."

"The case you got assigned to by Vidocq."

"Yes."

"This kind of work seems to be worthwhile." Deguire stated, taking out a wad of banknotes, and threw it on the table before Javert. "5000. That´s quite a sum to carry around in your pocket. Did you sell them something? Did you steal it from them? I just like to know where one can earn so much in only one night, you know. Might be worth a shot."

Javert glared up at the man, trying to bite back all the seething responses he had in mind, about dirty police men, who indeed existed in this world.

"The money is legal. It was a tool, nothing more. It´s not stolen."

Deguire leaned back, regarding him as if he tried to decide how much of this he could or wanted to believe. "You´re telling me you own 5000 just like that?"

"Not me."

The other man understood. Maybe he´d known all along.

"Where´s your partner?"

So there it was. Javert had known this would come, and now he was there. At last. Deguire was looking at him, demanding, impatiently waiting for his answer. And all Javert could think was: He knows. He knows what happened that day. About the trap they lured us in. How else could he know that I have a partner at all?

"Is this another act of revenge?" he asked him straightforward, fed up with this game at last. "Is that all there is to this? Did you talk to Dubois? Or one of his friends?"

"I´m talking to you, inspector."

"I´m not an inspector."

"Then what are you?"

Javert wanted to answer. He wanted to spit his answer right into Deguire´s face. And more. But he didn´t. Because nothing of what he would have said would have made any difference. Nothing. So he did say nothing.

The man before him straightened. "You will be charged with arson, maybe even murder." he repeated. "You will get the chance to defend yourself in front of the court. But I don´t have much hope for your case."

Javert didn´t respond. There was no point. He wouldn´t convince any of them, and he would not get out of here. Not that easily. When they led him away into a cell, he didn´t struggle at all. Did not say a single word. When the door fell shut behind him, the sound of the shrieking metal echoing in the hallway and in his head, he sat down on his cot and buried his face in his hands.

**...**

"Did you see it?" Valjean´s voice was right beside his ear, in total darkness. But the darkness was only so dark because the fire had blinded him. It was all right. No threat. Too small. The smell was still in his nose though.

"What happened?" Valjean was out of breath. The shock.

"He´s still out there." Javert saw the figure standing in the street, calm and unmoving, like death himself. But it wasn´t death. It was a human. A criminal, mortal like everyone else.

"We can get him." Javert jumped up. He was out of the door first. It was totally beyond him how he could catch a glimpse of Valjean´s hand grabbing the key to withdraw it from the lock – the one with the ridiculous little heart he´d made for his daughter. He didn´t question this fact. A man never questioned impossible things while he was still dreaming.

He didn´t question how he could be downstairs within only one flight of stairs while in fact Valjean´s apartment was on the third floor. He didn´t question how he could hear Valjean´s voice as if he was beside him, although he knew he´d stopped a few stories above him.

"Javert, wait!"

And then he saw him again. The dark hooded man, standing at the corner, as if he was waiting for him, and forgotten were all his thoughts of asking Valjean what he was waiting for. He chased the figure, around corners, through streets, dark allays. A chase that never seemed to end. Every time he thought he´d lost him, he appeared standing at a corner, waiting for him to catch up again. And Javert ran, trying to do just that. Because he had to catch him. He just had to. And not even now did he realize that this man was taunting him. To make him follow, further and further away. So he wouldn´t notice. So he wouldn´t hear.

He dodged another corner, and all the sudden, he had him. Javert stared into the darkness under the hood and saw absolutely nothing. Nothing but a snarling and grinning skull, black remains of skin sticking to the bone like reminders of what he´d been in life. Eyes hollow but accusing, and his hands were reaching out for Javert, burned like the hands of those he´d seen after the fire.

**...**

He hadn´t planned to fall asleep, and the only reason why it happened at all was the exhaustion. He´d been on his feet for almost two days in a row. Had only slept an hour or so last night. In the end it had simply gotten too much, even for him. But when the door to his cell got opened again, he was instantly wide awake.

He had only a second to remember the dream and chase it away, calming his heartbeat and his own breathing. The light that fell in through the bars of the window had darkened significantly since he´d been locked up. The day was almost over. And soon it would be darkening out there. In some corners it would already be pretty shady by now.

The man that stepped through the door addressed him with a cold and impersonal: "Prisoner Javert."

And Javert didn´t say anything in return. He merely perceived the company of three others this man had brought along. But that too was nothing he would comment upon. Neither did he ask a question or protested when the man told him: "You will come with us."

It was no surprise to him, when they led him out of the station-house, and not towards a fiacre to maybe transport him someplace, but around the next corner, into an allay. The last quickly fading light of the day seemed to remain outside of this allay. As if it was the one who would watch out for police, while the criminals committed their secret deeds.

For a moment Javert felt his heart sink. Should that be it? Surely they hadn´t brought him here, just to have a short talk in private. Last time that hadn´t been what they had wanted, and if Valjean hadn´t been with him that day, things might have ended differently. No. They would have ended differently.

Now Valjean was not with him. He was alone against these men. Men who hated him, for doing the right thing. For bringing those to justice who had not done the right thing.

"So this is how it ends, is it?" he spoke up at last, and he was almost shocked at how even his voice sounded. "You take your revenge in a back allay like rats."

The man holding his elbow, turned him around at those words, angrily, and instantly punched him in the face. Javert stumbled back, against the wall, and stared into a snarling grin.

"Remember me?" the man asked.

Javert had no problems spotting the cut on the man´s cheek. Still not fully healed, and even though he knew this was probably suicidal, he couldn´t help but smirked.

The gesture earned him another punch, and a deadly glare from this man that had been a whining kid last time Javert had encountered him. Now he was a raging kid, having a tantrum. Look what happens when you hurt me, his gaze said.

"Not so tough without your partner, huh?" he hissed into his face.

Javert´s smirk was gone. When the next punch came, he ducked and avoided the fist. His hands were still cuffed but he could grab the man´s clothes, using his momentum. He managed it to swirl him around and smash him into the wall, head first. The raging man went down, cleanly knocked out. But that was only a temporal victory.

The others were at Javert the moment he saw his first man fall. Of course he struggled but with his cuffed wrists he simply had no chance. Only a minute later he was pushed against the wall again, a knife pressed against his throat. Instead of killing him though, the man raised the knife to his face and drew it across his cheek. First Javert didn´t even feel it. But then the stinging began and he felt the warm liquid run down his face. It collected in his beard, like in a sponge soaking off water. The cut began to pulse as he gazed into those revengeful eyes.

"Now how does that feel?" the man hissed, and Javert could not contain his laughter.

"You already forgot?" he asked, regarding the cut he´d decorated this man´s cheek with – all of them actually – merely a few days ago. When he only saw a confused frown, he raised his brows in a mockery way, as if to say: Poor fella. Hard when the memory leaves you.

Of course all he gained by that was another punch. This time he tasted the blood on his lip.

"Why don´t you just get it over with?" he asked at last, but this time it was the other one who laughed.

"Oh, maybe we wanna enjoy this." he suggested.

"Where is your partner?" one of the others asked, and Javert shot him a deadly glare.

"Don´t bother." he rasped. "You won´t find him."

"We´ll see about that." the guy with the bad memory said, and punched him again, just to make his point.

Javert waited for the next punch, and when it came, he moved his head aside. The fist smacked into the wall, cracking some knuckles and for a moment Javert enjoyed the scream of startled pain. But if he was to take advantage of this he had to act quick. So he grabbed the man and pushed him, against the others.

Somehow – how exactly would remain a mystery to him forever – his hands got a grip on the man´s knife and when he saw them stumble and fall, he followed, putting a foot on the first chest he could find. He raised the knife, ready to use it, and stared into terrified eyes. His hand halted. He wanted to do it. They deserved it. Hadn´t they lured him here, to do the same thing to him?

But that´d be murder. And he was no murderer.

His conscience, as noble as it was, eventually led to his doom. Before he had the time to get over his hesitation, he got grabbed again, from behind. The other two were back at their feet, and now he was disarmed. The next thing they´d do would be to use the knife against him, for real this time. Only one more prisoner that got injured and killed in his attempt to run.

And then a voice shouted from the entrance of the allay.

"Don´t move. All of you!"

Javert heard the sounds of a horse, and not before now did he realize that a fiacre had stopped over there. The man holding him, halted, at the sounds of several guns getting cocked.

"Let him go now!" the same voice demanded, and when Javert looked, he made out a small burly man, aiming a gun into the allay. He was framed by two others, also armed.

Vidocq repeated his order, more demanding, and finally the hands holding Javert slowly let go. Before the man in his back could step back, Javert threw his fists over his own shoulder, hitting the man straight on the nose. A tiny pay back but better than nothing.

The others flinched and moved to attack again.

"I said NO!" Vidocq ordered and they halted, facing the three guns.

"I would come out of there now, if I were you." were Vidocq´s next words, and this time he was speaking to Javert.

Great idea, the former inspector thought to himself but didn´t say a word. He left the allay in utter silence.

"Where´s Jean?" Vidocq asked him, quietly, when Javert reached him, and in this moment not even Javert could hold himself back any longer. He grabbed the small man, by his collar.

"You´re asking this _now_?" he snarled into his face. Vidocq´s second man instantly grabbed him and dragged him off their boss. But those men in the allay demanded their absolute attention, so the interruption remained a halfhearted one.

"When we came to you, asking for assistance, you were too busy to help us." Javert growled. "And now all the sudden, you show concern?"

"I wouldn´t do that." Jacques advised the three men in the allay, when they attempted to move. He pointed with his gun. "You will turn around and leave. Down the other way. Now."

Javert watched them hesitate, only with half of his attention. The rest was still fully on Vidocq. Eventually the three men took Jacques´ advise, collected their unconscious comrade and left, without another word.

"Inspector, please." Vidocq spoke collected under Javert´s stare. "I understand your anger, but this … is going nowhere. We only want to help you."

"And we should see that we get outahere." Jacques agreed. "Before someone sees us."

Javert glared at the three former criminals, none of them worth to use up any more of his well preserved anger, and eventually he let it go. He simply lacked the strength to keep up this fight. When they urged him into the fiacre he was actually grateful for being saved for a change.

**...**

"I´m sorry we couldn´t get here any faster." Vidocq said as the fiacre drove off. He glanced out of the window just to check if anyone would follow them. Obviously no one did. "I called upon Jacques and his friends as soon as I heard of your arrest." he said, calm as if nothing big had happened.

Javert snorted. "I´d be lying if I´d say I´m not glad you finally found the time."

Vidocq looked at him, like one would look at a pouting kid. And Javert could not even summon the will power to be angry about it.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Vidocq asked and Javert leaned back. His hands were still cuffed between his knees.

"Do I want to tell you what happened." he repeated and finally Vidocq showed some sort of appropriate agitation.

"Inspector." he leaned forward, urging. "The city is burning. Literally. I´m a little concerned. Something went wrong and I want to know what it is."

Javert said nothing. All he did was sigh, deeply, and looked away. "I´d like to know that too."

"Start at the beginning. When I gave you the case."

"That´s not where it began."

"It´s not?" now it was Vidocq who leaned back, expectantly.

"No." and as if to mock their former positions, Javert now took over the part of leaning forward. "Even you must know that this would be too simple."

"Well." Vidocq cocked a brow. "Where _did _it begin?"

But here Javert had to give in again. "I wish I knew." he sighed.

"Inspector …"

"It was never my idea to come to you." he changed the subject, way too fast for Vidocq to understand the lapse. "You knew that? I only came because Valjean wouldn´t stop nagging. As if there was nothing more important in this world. He nearly drove me crazy with it. _Give it a chance. It´s worth a shot. What else would you do?_"

And at this thought he suddenly halted, realizing with an unexpected shock what the question had really meant back then. What it still meant. An answer he´d not been ready to give at the time. He was not sure if he was ready to give it now.

"You don´t want to know what else I´d do." was all he had replied back then, and then immediately diverted the matter. "But I know what you should do. Finding a hobby that suits a man your age more than meddling with business you don´t know anything about."

"I don´t know anything?" Valjean had protested. "I have a unique perspective. From the other side, Javert. Just what Vidocq expects from his agents."

"Oh, he expects that. You can´t imagine how glad I am to know that."

"And you have the perspective from the opposite side." the ex convict had insisted on having his say. "It´s a perfect combination, even you must see that."

But Javert had only chuckled. "It just astounds me that the man who hates nothing more than changes, wants to make one so radical all the sudden."

This at last, had sufficiently startled the other man. "Why do you say I hate changes?" Valjean had stammered. "I don´t hate changes."

"Oh." Javert had been just in his element. "So that means you´re content with your daughter moving out now?" he taunted, knowing very well where to aim in order to hit the jugular. "It´s all right now, that she wants to be on her own and not have you around all the time anymore?"

"She … needs free space." Valjean had tried to rationalize it, not for the first time. "Before she moves in with Marius. It´s only our apartment not the other end of the world, Javert." he had cried.

And of course Javert had replied with a mocking: "I see."

For a moment Valjean had been off balance, totally defeated actually. Javert´s attack had been well placed. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Doing what?"

"Making this about Cosette."

"Well." the former inspector raised his brows. "I just think it would probably make her sad, if you manage it to get yourself killed on your very first assignment." And at this blank stare he suddenly turned from mocking to glaring. "You are not a police spy, Valjean." he rasped at him. "So stop pretending that you are."

"As far as I remember it was _me_ who saved _your_ ass, when playing spy turned out to be too difficult." the ex convict had replied and after that the two of them had just stood there, looking at each other in utter silence, as slowly realization made its way into Valjean´s mind.

"Antoine, I … I´m sorry." he stuttered. "I didn´t mean …"

"I know very well what you meant." Javert had said, and made his way past the other man. He was heading for the door, but it had never been easy to get away from Valjean when he thought he had something to say.

"If we would work together we could watch out for each other." he´d cried after him, almost desperately. "Don´t you see that?"

But of course Javert had not seen that. All he had done was turn back around, just at the door, and smirked, as if the mere idea would be ridiculous. "This will not happen." he´d said, and back then he had meant every word. "Not in this life. You´re living in a dream, Valjean." he told him. "Wake up already."

"_I_ live in a dream?" he heard Valjean cry after him, and the anger was now unmistakable in his voice. "We _both_ went through this nightmare together." he recalled. "JAVERT!"

But Javert would not stay and listen to this any longer. He was out and closed the door behind himself.

**...**

"Inspector?"

Javert flinched up, out of his musing. The memories had taken a hold of him without him noticing, and now he was looking into the face of the man who was now technically his boss. Sure, as if.

"If you didn´t want to work for me …" Vidocq started, as if he knew where Javert had just been to. "Then why did you do it?"

"Why I did it is not important. I did it, period."

Opposite of him, Vidocq tilted his head. "Fair enough." he leaned back again and for a moment he simply looked at Javert, waiting. "You seemed quite eager to accept the case when I gave it to you." he mentioned.

Javert had to restrain himself from groaning. He remembered that day. Of course he did. To say he had accepted the case was an understatement, considering that he´d snatched the file out of Vidocq´s hands, as soon as he guessed what it contained. Not an unexpected reaction, considering the smug grin he´d seen on Vidocq. But the nifty bastard had been right, hadn´t he? When they had entered the place Valjean had been the eager one. After Javert had read the file, the ex con had had to hurry to keep up with him.

"Shouldn´t we sign a contract first before we start working for him?" he´d asked, but Javert had not even slowed down.

"We´re not working for Vidocq." he´d informed Valjean, while he marched on. "We´re working for justice."

And this was what they had done. Because this case had been personal. And Vidocq had known that. Hadn´t he? He´d known Javert would never let anyone else take care of these men. Manipulative bastard. Unbelievable that he had fallen for that. And Javert had done exactly what Vidocq had wanted him to do. He´d lost his head, in pursuit of an obsession. This old habit that already once in his life had almost broken his neck. And even though he knew that, he´d not been able to help it.

Valjean had been pulled into this vortex right along with him. And the worst thing was probably, that Javert did not believe Valjean had tried to fight it. This godforsaken idiot.

* * *

**As always at the end of the first chapter, I ask you for an honest review. If I write badly I can only know if you tell me. So ... I´m grateful for every feedback.**

**And thanks for reading.**


	2. Investigating

**Investigating**

"Would you mind to go into a little more details, inspector?" Vidocq asked as they settled down in his kitchen. "I still don´t fully understand what happened to you."

"I told you not to call me that." Javert growled, and when Fleuride approached his face with a wet cloth to clean off the blood, he skipped back. "I can do that myself." he snapped. Regarding her rebuking gaze he added a little quieter: "Thank you." Acknowledging the well meant gesture was nothing that could hurt.

Fleuride, being her chirpy self, just left him without a word, to take care of his wounds alone. Javert looked at the bowl of water but couldn´t summon the willpower to pick up the cloth and clean his face. The blood had dried anyway. No need to hurry.

"Now?" Vidocq spoke. "What happened? Why did the city start burning?"

Javert couldn´t help himself. "Jumping to the conclusion right away? I thought you wanted details."

"All right then. Give me the details. As many as you wish."

Javert´s gaze darkened. How much did he even want this man to know? He wasn´t sure. Not everything that had happened was his business. But could he really estimate the relevance of those events to the case? He was too involved to see it clear. Too close to it all to be objective. Maybe … Maybe letting an outsider decide what really happened was the best way to set things straight again.

Javert sighed.

"We did what you asked us to do." he started. "That is … I did … just what you expected of me. Didn´t I? I was burning to get started on this case. To bring these people to justice. No one would stop me. I had sworn this the moment I held the file in my hand. The one you gave me in your generosity."

Vidocq only looked, no change in his expression. And Javert cast down his eyes.

"I wanted them. For what they had done." he shrugged. No surprise here. "If anyone would get into my way they would see the real me. Not even Valjean would slow me down. I wouldn´t let him." He chuckled. "Or at least … that´s what I thought."

**...**

He threw the front door open as if it was merely made of paper, not solid wood, he remembered that quite well. Maybe in his memory he added some force to his entrance, maybe he took some out of it. He would never know for sure. All he knew was that Cosette and Marius had jumped out of their seats when he´d entered Valjean´s house like that. And maybe for a second he had caused another one of those shocks for the poor girl, the way his very presence always seemed to do it. Gracing the very edge of her still existing fear, that one day, Javert would change his mind and come in to drag her father to prison after all.

In this moment he coudn´t care less though. He had something to do and the girl hated him anyway, so why stop and bother. There was work to do.

Valjean on the other hand, cared quite a bit.

"Cosette." Javert heard his startled exhale. "Marius. What are you doing here?"

Javert did not turn around to see her reaction, but her voice was loud and clear enough for him to hear. And he noticed her embarrassment.

"We came for a visit." she had explained herself. "When you weren´t there I used my key. I didn´t think any of it but maybe …"

"No, dear God." Valjean instantly talked over her. "That´s not what I meant."

And that must have been when Marius finally realized that something was going on. Something more than just the usual objection of his sweetheart to Javert´s presence in her father´s life.

"What´s the matter?" the boy asked and Valjean, being his usual decisive self, began to stutter.

"I uhm …" he was still panting from their spurt back here. "It seems our dear inspector is eager to go back to work."

"Work?" Cosette was quicker, catching up than her fiance. "You took Vidocq´s offer?"

Another exhausted sigh. "Not quite yet."

Javert only listened to all of this with one ear. His attention was on his task at hand, to collect the tools he´d need. He knew where to find it, he had spent enough time in this house by now, and for the first time in ages as it seemed, he did not stop for a second to wonder how he could possibly be familiar with this place, the home of a former criminal. In this moment all that mattered was that he knew where he´d find what he needed. A notepad, a pen, a map of the area around Paris, and a small knife, just in case.

"But if …" he could hear the irritated frown in the girl´s voice. "How …?"

Valjean lay two calming hands on his daughter´s arms. "I´m sure everything will be explained in good time." he assured her.

Javert had what he needed, and stormed back towards the door without even glancing at Valjean and his precautious kids. Still he saw the fake smile on Valjean´s face dropping, now that he lost control of the situation for good.

"JAVERT!" the old man gave it up at last, fuming now, and left Cosette, in favor to chase after _him_.

Outside just before the door he reached him, grabbing his arm to make him stop.

"Would you at least care to tell me what we´re planning to do now?" he demanded. "If we´re ought to work together on this …"

"I didn´t say you have to come."

Valjean was fuming now. Something in his gaze – something dark – made its way down, all the way from his eyes to his heart, Javert could see that, even though the man did not even move.

"And this." he pointed at him. "Is something you will stop doing as well. All right? We are partners. We agreed on that. So stop treating me as if anyone had forced me to be here. Partners work together. And they actually share what they plan to do. Is that so hard for you?"

Javert took a breath, holding this burning stare. "I never had a partner." was all he knew to answer, and somehow he felt as if he had to justify himself with that.

"Well, that has changed now." Valjean retorted. "So maybe you could try and catch up with this little fact. Could you, Antoine?"

Javert felt how the sound of his own name did its work again. As it always did. Ever since he´d gotten used to hear it again. Or maybe he wasn´t really used to it yet. Maybe that was the reason why it worked, why it had that effect on him. God, he hated Valjean for that. That he was able to weaken him like that, only by using what had been his for all these years.

"I guess I could." was all he could muster, to at least keep his dignity before this man. He gave him a nod, indicating that there was a way before them. And Valjean turned, ready to follow. "I tell you on the way." Javert promised.

"On the way where?"

"To find us a coach. We have some place to go."

**...**

He briefed Valjean in the carriage. The way was long enough for that. He didn´t need to tell much for Valjean to understand why he was so eager to solve this case.

"Are you sure it´s them?" he asked, staring at the file in his hand.

"Read." was all Javert would respond and of course Valjean had to see he was right. "It _is_ them. They´re cleaning up behind themselves. Erasing traces by killing off witnesses. This man they just found, is only one in a row."

"I thought they got them all." Valjean would keep insisting on false assumptions, and Javert silenced him with only his stare.

"How many of them do you think are out there?" he asked. "You think they got them _all_? Really?"

"So this is the rest of them." Valjean finally understood. "Trying to sneak away unnoticed."

"Just pray to your precious God that we´re not too late already."

At last Valjean closed the file, done with the few details it could give to him. "What are we going to do?"

But here Javert could not give any more specific answers. He simply looked out the window, grimly. "Investigating." he said. And nothing more.

**...**

It was a steep slope they went to. A place in the woods, just outside a small village, covered over and over with shards of old ceramic. The villagers disposed their broken vessels here. And recently someone else had disposed a dead man. Ironically in pieces, just like the bowls and vases, people got rid off out here. Just what we all become when we´re gone, Javert thought strangely dark. Nothing but a heap of junk and garbage.

"How many of the villagers come here with a cart?" Valjean asked out of the blue. "You think they have that much to dispose to need a cart? Maybe even a fiacre?"

He pointed at the ground, and Javert saw it. The tracks. Deep enough to be from a fiacre all right. And prints of horseshoes.

"How good do you read tracks?" he asked Valjean and the other man shrugged.

"Decent enough I guess. But I guess you´re better."

"You´re right." Javert proceeded by proving how right Valjean was. He pointed at the ground, tracing the edges of the tracks. "It´s deep. Older than some of the other tracks. Fresher than those." He gazed at some footsteps of people, tracks of donkeys and other animals who´d come this way. Tracks of real carts, smaller than this carriage. Much more shallow by now, not as recent. And it had rained lately, so the ground was soft. There had been a lot of traffic here these past few days. Not just villagers he presumed.

"It could have been to transport the body away." Valjean pointed out, and Javert halted. He had to admit it was a possibility. Yeah, sure, it was. He glanced about, trying to think, and gazed at the ground again.

"No." he finally decided, pointing. "There was at least one cart here, after this fiacre. The fiacre was here … several days ago. This cart … that´s not longer than yesterday. That´s what they used to transport the body."

Valjean nodded, regarding the ground. "All right. But what do we do with that?"

"Nothing." Javert started to head back the way they´d come. "Not yet. First we need to know what happened."

Valjean followed him. "The file doesn´t say that?"

"You didn´t read it?" Javert stopped dead in his tracks.

"Not all of it." Valjean shrugged. "I assumed you´d tell me the most important parts."

Javert closed his eyes, trying not to groan. "The first lesson you´ve got to learn, Valjean. Never trust in anyone to tell you the whole story. Always check and double check for yourself." He kept walking. "Only that way you´ll learn the whole truth. Only that way you´ll catch your criminal."

"Trust no one to tell me the whole story?" Valjean repeated. "Not even you?"

"Not even me." Javert stopped again, to face him straight on. Even _he_ had to see his point. "I could have forgotten something. Left something out. You could never know for sure, except you prove it for yourself."

The old man tilted his head, looking at him so gentle. "Javert." he said, as if he was talking to a kid. "Partners have to trust each other. This is a bad example. Between the two of us we should be the exception from that rule."

Oh God. Javert closed his eyes. Why, oh why did he have to deal with something like that? It wasn´t that hard to understand. Even for an eternal dreamer like Valjean.

The former inspector spared another try to teach this dilettante how the world really worked and just marched on. He had more important work to do.

**...**

It was a young woman who opened the door. A scarf was covering her hair and her dress – more a rag – was used up and filthy. She´d probably been doing chores.

"Madame Courfin?" Javert addressed her and she nodded, frowning up at him.

"My name is Javert. This is my associate Monsieur Fauchelevant. We´re here to investigate the matter of the recently discovered body." Her gaze changed from uncertain to something painful at his words. "I understand you´re the one who found it?"

The woman cast down her eyes. "My son did."

"Can we speak with him?"

She looked back up. "I´m afraid not." the expression he saw now, was sassy, almost daring. "He hasn´t spoken since that day." she informed him. "Only with the dog. I hear him speak to her sometimes. But to me …" She broke off, shaking her head.

"How old is he?" Valjean asked, and Javert could see tears glistening in her eyes.

"Six."

For a moment neither of them said a word. The mother obviously took it as a sign that this talk was over. Only it wasn´t.

"Then we´ll have to work with _your_ descriptions." Javert spoke. "What happened on that day?"

"I already _told_ the police about it." she objected.

"We´re not police."

"But … you said you´re investigating."

"We´re private investigators." Valjean explained it to her, gently. "We work outside the police yet …" and he glanced at Javert before adding: "… with them."

The poor woman seemed uncertain, still, but Valjean´s gentle tone seemed to have done the trick.

"I sent Julien to bring a broken jar to the slope." she started to tell them. "He´s out there all the time so I figured he could do that for me." She halted, shaking her head. "I should have done it myself. I should have never …" Her voice broke, and Valjean of course had to jump in immediately.

"You couldn´t have known." he attempted to comfort, just as he always did, but Javert would not let this mutate into a therapy session.

"What happened when he came back?" he demanded to know.

The woman sniffled, only for a moment, and pulled herself together. "I saw blood on the dog. First I thought Julien was hurt but he was fine." Her gaze was hollow now, lost in her memory. "It was the way he looked at me." she spoke. "The way he wouldn´t say a word … I knew the dog had sniffed something else to get the blood all over her. So I went to the slope … and saw the body. It was awful, messieurs."  
"So you called the police."

She closed her eyes. "A friend of mine did. I couldn´t walk anymore. My legs were shaking. And I couldn´t let go of Julien after I knew what he had seen."

"I´m sorry, madame." Valjean offered again.

"He´ll get over it." Javert said. "Where did they bring the body?"

He caught a rebuking glance from Valjean, a slightly startled one from the witness.

"The local butcher I believe." the woman answered his question at last.

Valjean´s eyes jumped from Javert to her, aghast, and Javert rolled his eyes. "He´ll have a cool enough room to preserve the body until it gets claimed by the family." he explained it to him. Even the woman had known that. She was nodding, affirming his guess. And beside him Valjean visibly relaxed. God, this man really didn´t know anything.

"Thank you for your help, Madame." Javert said his goodbye for both of them and turned around to head for the next stop in this journey.

Of course Valjean could not just leave it at that. They were barely out of the gate when he spoke up again.

"You could have been a little more …"

"What?" Javert would stop this ridiculous discussion before it even started. "Sympathetic? Gentle? We´re here to get work done."

"This kid has seen something very cruel."

"So did many kids these days. There´s nothing we can do about it. He will survive. And grow on it. But not because I feel pity for him. You seem to do enough of this for both of us."

"He is a little boy."

"And we are here to hunt murderers. You think they waste time to pity over a little thing like him?"

Valjean only looked at him, almost disgusted. "Where is you humanity?" he asked.

"At home." Javert retorted. "Out here it would only distract me."

He kept on walking, and Valjean marched by his side. "I don´t understand you." he sounded bitter. "How can you leave humanity behind? This is what everything is about."

"This is a murder case." Javert rolled his eyes. "These men we´re chasing killed a man in cold blood and then dismantled him. How much humanity do you think we´ll find in such a case?"

"The more important to keep our own."

Javert stopped, abruptly, but he didn´t startle Valjean as much as he would have liked. "These people will give a damn about your humanity." he told him. "When you meet them face to face, what do you think they´ll do? Your gentle heart will not protect you from them. Against people like that you have to adapt, or they will win. It´s an eye for an eye, Valjean, and if you don´t understand that soon, you will end up like this man the kid has found. Because you´ll not stand a chance against these people."

Valjean said nothing for a long time. He just held his gaze, stony-faced, before he finally told him: "I will not end up like this man."

The gaze he saw was so defiant, Javert could not help but snorted, almost amused.

"I sure hope so."

**...**

It was like walking into a barn. It looked like one anyway. A huge room, only separated by a few items, mostly used by the butcher to do his daily work. A work just as bloody as the one their murderers had done. It was quite fitting that the body of proof was kept in here. It was accompanied well, by dozens of halves of dead cows, hanging from the ceiling.

Ice was heaped up around those cadavers that were still meant to be eaten by humans. The body that once had been a human had been stacked in a corner, with its own heap of ice surrounding it. Even from the door, Javert could see that it wasn´t whole anymore. Not a human being at all, not even in the remains of it.

Valjean noticed too, and tensed as they approached. Javert tried not to pay attention to it, but to actually focus on the body. Still he couldn´t help but notice Valjean´s reaction when he pulled back the cover to reveal the body.

It wasn´t a nice sight. Not at all. But for everyone who wasn´t used to see a man taken apart and put back together on a table just to reassemble the form he´d once been in life, this must look pretty bad. Terrible. Maybe even devastating. Animals had done their fair share deforming the body. Pieces were torn out, fingers missing, bitten off. Not even the face was intact anymore. Hungry beasts would do wonders for anyone who was in a need to let a body vanish from the face of the earth. If it didn´t get discovered in time. It was their luck – or their bad luck, however one wanted to see it – that this time someone indeed had discovered it in time.

Valjean made a gagging sound, and Javert did his best to ignore it. He´d seen worse reactions to such things, over the years, things that had looked much less heavy. Considering this, Valjean was holding up pretty damn well.

"Does anyone know who he is by now?" Javert asked the owner of the place.

"I do, in fact." the butcher answered them. "Everyone does. Only … no one else would want to look at … this."

"Who is he?"

The butcher sighed. "His name was Luis Dumas. He was a local cattle breeder. My best deliverer actually."

"Does he have family?"

"Sure. They´ll send someone else to take him to the funeral. They also do not want to see this."

Valjean exhaled, as if he was in pain. "I understand the feeling." he spoke, trying to look the other way.

Javert could not afford to consider his companion´s feelings. He had to know everything. So he pulled the cover back even more, revealing the whole ugly truth of what was beneath it. Valjean hissed at the sight and turned away.

"How can a man do this to another?" he asked aloud.

The butcher shrugged, indifferently. "With an ax I´d say. A big one."

Javert glanced at him, and he wasn´t the only one.

"I meant that differently." Valjean informed him, but once again, Javert had to be cruel.

"What kind of an ax?" he asked. "How big?"

"At least … that size?" the butcher went to his chopping board and got his cleaver. "When it is sharp and the man who swings it strong enough … they can chop off limps in one strike." he told them. "Some of those parts were severed with just one chop." he pointed with the cleaver. "I´ve seen it when they brought him in. Professional eye, you see."

Javert regarded the man for a moment, noticed Valjean´s disgusted face, and tried to ignore it. After that he inspected the limps again. Their host was so generous to show him the parts he´d been talking about, once again using his cleaver as pointer. And despite this doubtful habit, Javert had to admit that the man was right. Those cuts were clean and professional.

Beside them Valjean finally groaned, releasing his repulsion.

"I need some fresh air." he said and left, on staggering legs.

Javert waited until he´d closed the door behind him, before he went on asking his questions.

"How strong must a man be to manage that?"

"Pretty strong." the butcher answered. "They chopped through bones as you see. Stronger than you I´d say. And me."

"You are used to do work like this?"

"Not like this." the man instantly denied the implication. "Pigs. And cows. A human bone is lighter than a cow´s."

"Can you chop through a cow´s bone?"

"If I have a really sharp cleaver." the man did his best to answer the question. "And enough drive. But not through a leg bone. They´re too thick."

"Through one of those?" Javert pointed at the severed leg of the man on the table, and for the first time this butcher seemed uncomfortable in his position.

"I guess I could." he shifted from foot to foot. "But I would never dare. This is a human being. Murder is a sin."

Javert regarded the man, scrutinizing him. He seemed genuine enough. For now. Javert´s instincts told him that he was probably not involved. Of course that was something the investigation would have to prove. For now though he settled with a simple nod.

"Thank you for your help." he covered the body again, much the the relief of the butcher. It was a strange sort of relief to him too, to know that he could still intimidate witnesses like this. This one year off duty had not taken his natural skills away just yet.

He left the place, to find an awfully pale Valjean waiting for him outside.

"You all right?" he asked him and Valjean nodded. Nothing more.

For a moment Javert tried to figure him out, and had to admit that he failed. The more surprising was Valjean´s question.

"How often …?" he had to start over. "Have you done many of these … while you were police?"

Javert glanced back at the door. "Not quite as vicious as this one." he said. "But yes. It´s part of the job."

Valjean exhaled, eyes closed, as if he still tried to chase away the nausea. "I never imagined …" he didn´t finish the sentence, only shook his head.

"The world is cruel, Valjean." Javert told him. "You better learn that or stay out of it." It was a strange thing to look at him now, not knowing what he wanted to hear next. Eventually Javert collected his courage – not knowing why it needed courage at all – and asked: "Do you _want_ to stay out of it?"

Valjean looked up at him, sharply. "I didn´t say that."

He meant it, Javert could see that. Still he was doubting. He had to. "You think you´re up to it?" he asked him and Valjean took a breath, to steady himself.

"I will be." he said, and took another breath, slower this time. Eventually he nodded. "Yes, I will be."

Javert mirrored the nod. "All right." he said. And that was it. For now at least, he thought that he could live with that.

**...**

The rest of the day they spent in search for the deceased man´s family. It turned out to be a dead end though. As it seemed the family had left the town only a day after their relative had been found. None of the neighbors or friends knew where they had gone to. And somehow Javert had an idea why.

"What do we do now?" Valjean asked him. "Wait until they return? Or leave a message?"

"They won´t return." Javert threw him a glance. "Would you? They know who killed him and why. And they fear they might be next."

"So what do we do?"

"We need to find them."

"Don´t you think these people went through enough?" Valjean held him back. "They left because they are scared. Let´s leave them."

Javert could not believe it. Had he just started this whole insanity again? Again?

"You think _they _will leave them?" he yanked his arm away. "These people are possible witnesses. They are a danger to them and they will not just let them go. If we don´t find them first, _they_ will. And then they´ll truly follow their relative to his grave."

At last he saw understanding dawn in Valjean´s face. Dear God had this really been so much beyond him?

"These people know something." Javert continued, just in case his partner hadn´t reached the full conclusion just yet. "Their information could lead us to those who are responsible. This is the only lead we have right now."

When he saw that Valjean was with him again, he kept on walking. There was one more thing they needed to do in this town.

"Is their value for our case the only thing that matters to you?" Valjean wanted to know. "Do you even think about how we could save them?"

"I will as soon as we found them."

"And how do we find them?"

"This is your speciality, isn´t it?" Javert would not slow down. "How to find a man that doesn´t want to be found?"

Valjean threw him a frowning gaze. "You ask _me_?"

"Where would you hide if you´d be in their place?" Javert took a moment to stop, just across the street from the tiny church. He needed to see Valjean´s face for this. And what he saw was solemn. The man was serious as he thought about this.

"With someone I can trust." he finally answered. "Family maybe. Or close friends."

Javert nodded. That´s what he´d thought. And now that he had his confirmation there was only one place he could think of, where they could possibly get those information from. If there was anyone in a small town like this, who knew almost everything about the people living there, it was the local priest. Javert shoved Valjean forward, towards the church.

**...**

By the time they finally rode back to Paris, it was turning dark, and Valjean was falling asleep rapidly in the carriage next to him. Javert pushed him off his shoulder as his head fell down, and the old man regrettingly sank against the opposite wall. His sleepy form, effected Javert more than he liked and soon he was drowsing off as well. A day like this shouldn´t be that exhausting. And usually it wouldn´t be. But he was sure that he was on the right track here, and just the thought of who he was chasing had pushed him, emotionally, more than normal agitation would. This was personal, still, and would always be.

But the result was that he was feeling drained now, and that wasn´t good. Maybe a more neutral approach to the whole affair would be a good idea next time. He couldn´t afford to be weakened like this, when they would find their criminals at last.

The sun had set and the last beams of light slid away quickly as they finally reached Paris. There was still light in the windows of Valjean´s home, Javert noticed. So the kids were still there.

He didn´t comment on this, tried not to think about it. It was weird enough as it was, unexpected to say the least. And then his attention was drawn by Valjean who stepped out of the fiacre after him and, thanks to his old feet, slipped and fell. Javert caught him easily enough, saving him from a dive to the pavement. And just as he dragged him up again, the door got opened.

"Papa." the girl instantly hurried to take her father out of Javert´s hands. As if she still had to protect him from this police man.

Javert handed his burden over willingly and caught her glance, only for a second. It was much less hateful than it had used to be, but it had gained nothing gentle yet, not towards him. It was still as hard and uncompromising as it had always been.

"What happened?" he heard her ask, speaking to Valjean of course. But her voice was not concerned. It was demanding. Demanding an explanation, why they returned so late, and in such a state.

"Nothing, Cosette." Valjean assured her. "We just got … delayed. Obviously investigating a case like that takes some time."

"Investigating any case takes time." Javert replied, closing the door behind them. "What did you think the police is doing all day? Standing about and drink coffee?"

He met a rueful yet amused smirk from his old foe, and two much less amused glances from the younger people in the room.

"Marius, why are you still here?" Valjean instantly diverted the matter. "It´s late."

"I wouldn´t leave Cosette alone, monsieur. Not while we couldn´t be sure if you´d be back. When!" he instantly corrected himself, but too late. It was out and Valjean had heard it.

"Why wouldn´t we be back?" he asked, only startled on the surface. Beneath his facade he was insulted, Javert could tell. Maybe even angry.

The boy opened his mouth to explain his involuntary choice of words, but closed it again. Every explanation he could come up with would only worsen the situation, even this student could see that.

Valjean glanced at Javert, and as if he´d just found the answer to his question there, he huffed, straightening himself out of his daughter´s supporting hands.

"Well, we _are_ back now." he stated the obvious. "You can go home now. The fiacre is already payed. Please, feel free to take it."

For a change Marius was smart and chose not to give another response. Javert was glad when he simply turned to kiss his fiance, ready to leave with only a few uttered words of goodbye. Javert caught their brief exchange. Cosette would not come with him, not today. She´d stay to make sure her father was all right. And with that the two of them left the room, as she would see him to the door.

One more time, as she passed him, Javert caught this icy gaze of hers.

Finally when the door was closed behind them, Valjean would allow himself to let go of his rigid posture, and made his way to the fireplace. Javert watched him, how he lowered himself down into the armchair, groaning laborious as he did so. A deep sigh escaped him when he sat comfortable at last, and for a moment Javert believed he´d fall asleep right there, within a few seconds. But then he opened his eyes again, and his expression was one of pure pity.

"I´m sorry." he said, as if there was anything he had to apologize for.

Javert merely snorted. "What for? For your weak stomach? Or for being a general pain in the ass, with your pleading heart lawyer attitudes?" He raised a brow. "You´ve got a lot to learn if you want to be an investigator, Valjean."

The other man leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Duly noted."

The following silence could have been uncomfortable. In any other case it would have been. But Valjean was simply too relaxed for Javert to feel anything but calmness in the room. He tried to think of anything to say, and failed. He believed that there was really nothing he _could_ have said.

So instead he just sat down in the second armchair, and faced the chimney. He was not groaning as Valjean had done it, but he felt the tiredness in his bones just as well. Sitting down in a place like this was indeed a welcome alternative to the spare room he called his home. The room that had greeted him after a long day like this, for all these years. Strange that he felt no urge at all, to get there now. Well, an armchair like this definitely had its advantages. It was a chair a man could fall asleep in.

"We need to go to town first thing tomorrow." he eventually spoke up, eyes still closed. "We´ll have to see if the priest was right about the brother of our Dumas family."

Valjean said nothing. He only nodded. And then there was the sound of Cosette stepping back into the room. They both turned their heads towards her. And Javert once again faced this icy silence he´d gotten used to from her.

"Cosette." Valjean spoke. "Dear, I hate to ask you but … I could use some tea to warm my old bones. Would you be so kind?" As she nodded quietly, he turned to Javert. "What about you?"

Javert shook his head. "Nothing."

"I´ll make some extra." Cosette decided anyway, and left without another word. Valjean was smiling, proudly. Isn´t she a sweetheart, his gaze said, and Javert closed his eyes. _Now_ he was groaning. Oh, please.

Valjean said nothing. He simply allowed them to sit and rest in silence for a while. But obviously there was still one more thing he needed to talk about.

"Should we visit Vidocq before we head to this address?" he asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

Javert only glanced over at him, and Valjean answered his gaze blatantly. "I just thought … maybe it´s a good thing to have a legal base for the work we´re going to do."

Javert´s gaze remained unmoved. "The convict tells the police man how to act legally?" he asked. "Nice."

Again Valjean answered only with a smile, before leaning back again, closing his eyes. "Stranger things have happened, Antoine." he said. "Stranger things have happened."


	3. Side by Side

**Side by Side**

Javert winced, gritting his teeth at the pain when he cleaned the blood off his cheek. That these small cuts could sting so much. Worse than a real wound. But in the great scheme of things it only made him more angry. God, if he ever got his hands on those bastards he would not be that nice anymore. The only satisfaction right now was the knowledge that they´d felt exactly the same, a few days ago, after _he´d_ decorated _their_ faces.

Vidocq placed a glass on the table for him, filling a second one for himself. Cognac. He raised the bottle, invitingly.

"Except you´d prefer a strong tea."

Javert growled and put the cloth down, done with his cheek. "Cognac´s all right." he said and Vidocq filled the glass.

"You didn´t come to sign the contract that day." he commented what Javert had told him. "Why?"

"We did." Javert emptied his glass in one gulp, taking a moment to let the Cognac settle down. "You weren´t there."

Vodocq frowned. "I was." he insisted, startled. "I opened the office at 8 o´clock. Each morning."

Javert threw him a glance. "You should consider adapting your service hours. Some people start working sooner than that." He refilled his glass on his own without asking. "Another lesson I had to teach Valjean. An inspector is not in a need of daylight to do his duty."

It took the smaller man a moment to realize what Javert was talking about. "You dragged Jean out of bed before sunrise?" he was genuinely baffled.

"I told him to get used to these working hours." Javert growled. "He was too used to a slacking lifestyle of retirement. That had to stop." He emptied his glass again and for a moment he felt his anger leaving him weak in its wake. But then he heard Vidocq chuckle and shot him another glare.

"You still could have come to see me later that day." the burly man said. "I assume something kept you from doing so?"  
Javert was still glaring. His mood was not getting better. And the Cognac in his throat was burning worse than he´d expected. "You assume right."

**...**

They´d found the address they´d gotten from the priest easily enough. It wasn´t hard with a detailed map of the city. Javert knew certain parts of the city like the back of his hand but not all of it. But he knew how to make up for the human imperfection with the right tools. The only problem was that no one was there. Wouldn´t be there anymore, not today, not any day in the near future.

Neighbors told them the man moved out, rather rushed as they said. As if something had scared him to death and he´d decided to run for it. And that was probably what happened, Javert mused. Dammit.

As he stalked away from the building, Valjean held him back.

"Maybe they can hide." he offered his view on the matter. "It´s not a given that these people will find them. Maybe they get away after all."

Javert could only shake his head over so much naivety. "They won´t." he told Valjean, plain and simple. "They never can. Believe me, I´ve seen cases like that. People who think they can outrun their pursuers. They always end up dead. Always."

It was a relief to see that at least Valjean was able to get over his naivety by reasonable thinking. Javert´s words had gotten through to him, the frown he showed now, was proof of that.

"So what do we do now?" he wanted to know.

But here Javert had to admit that he had reached his limit. No tool that he knew of would help here. And the fact that he didn´t have all the tools anymore that he used to have, was not improving his mood either.

"What?" Valjean asked, seeing his dark gaze, probably guessing how many curses remained unspoken in this moment.

Javert shook his head. "If I still had men under my command, I could post someone here." he explained. "To watch the house. In case someone comes back. But this way I´m limited to you."

Valjean answered by raising his brows. "Well, thanks a lot." he made but Javert would not do him the favor and apologize for that. It hadn´t been an insult anyway. If he wanted to understand it like one, that was his problem.

He was already trying to think again, ignoring Valjean´s searching look about, when suddenly he called out.

"Boy!You want to earn some money?"

Javert stared in utter disbelieve. A dark haired boy of maybe twelve years stopped at Valjean´s question, interested, of course.

"Sure, sir." his voice was just at the verge of his puberty vocal change. "What must I do?"

Valjean handed him a coin. "Keep an eye on this house for me." he told the kid. "There´s a family who recently moved out. Their name´s Dumas. If any of them comes back to get something or for what reason ever, you follow them. I need to know where they are going. It is really important that I speak with them."

Javert couldn´t believe what he heard. Was this man serious?

"I could tell them that you look for them." the kid offered eagerly, and Javert winced.

"No." Valjean denied the boy´s offer. "Just tell me where they go." When the kid looked uncertain, he went down to hunch before him. "If you told them someone hired you for this task, they would get scared and run away and I would never find them." he explained. "But I need to find them. They are in danger, but not from me. You see. If I find them I can help them."

Javert´s feet were frozen to the ground, witnessing this scene, and that was probably a good thing. Otherwise he might have been tempted to kick Valjean for this stupidity. Telling a random kid just absolutely everything about an ongoing case? Was he insane?

"Are you police?" the boy asked and Javert´s first instinct was to answer with a harsh: "Yes."

Unfortunately Valjean was just as quick to answer: "No."

The two of them looked at each other, well aware of the uncertain glance they received from the boy. Eventually Valjean smiled at the kid.

"We … are the good ones." he assured him. "We´re trying to help." He pointed at the coin he´d given him, reminding him of the job. "Will you help us?"

The kid was still unsure but he took the coin into his pocket. "I´ll try." he promised and Javert closed his eyes. Yeah, sure.

Valjean obviously believed it though, judging by his smile. "Good." he got back up. "Try not to be seen. By no one. If you see anything, come to my house in rue Plumet. I´m Fauchelevant. And when I see you again, I will give you some extra. You understand?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir." And with that he was gone.

Valjean turned back to Javert, with a gaze that clearly asked for approval. And all Javert could do was stare at him in total disbelieve. Was that really happening? This could only be a dream. A nightmare.

"You really think your little story impressed the kid?" he asked. "He´ll take the money and we´ll never see him again."

"You should have more trust in human nature." Valjean insisted on his silly little world.

"I do." Javert turned to leave this place. "Human nature is selfish and deceptive." he shared this fundamental truth with Valjean. But of course this would not reach the mind of a man who believed in God´s never ending grace, even in _this_ world. "Never mind." he dismissed the whole thing. If Valjean wanted to throw his money after slum kids for nothing, it was his choice. "I have an own idea to get the information that we need."

**...**

It would have been a lie if he had claimed not to enjoy seeing Valjean tense, at the sight of the police station-house. The old con was still in there, no matter how well he hid him under the fancy disguise of a gentleman. And right now he came out of his hiding.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, nervous, maybe even alarmed, and Javert smirked.

"Afraid they´ll bust you, 24601?"

But Valjean was not up for jokes. He grabbed him, made him stop. "They might bust _you_!" he said. "Did that thought never occur to you, inspector Javert?"

Javert jerked his arm away, still smirking. "We got cleared of the charges." he recalled what Valjean obviously forgot. "And the only reason why I´m not wearing the uniform anymore is …" he stopped himself just in time, realizing that the only thing he could have said about this, would not add anything to the matter at hand anyway. So he settled with ending the sentence simple: "… my own reasons."

"Still." Valjean insisted. "People could react … badly."

Javert only snorted and kept walking, straight towards the front door. It wasn´t his target. He only wanted to see Valjean tense one last time, maybe see him slow down or stop altogether. He wanted to see some of the old fear, or at least some uncertainty, and if it was only to be reassured that he still held some power over this man. After all. If he was ever to change his mind, Valjean _would_ be back in prison, and this time he would stay there for the rest of his life. Sometimes it was a good thing to remind an unreliable partner like him of such facts. Maybe then he´d think twice next time he considered a stunt like that with the kid earlier. There were still a lot of lessons he had to learn.

Valjean indeed tensed, as they approached the door. But he did not slow down. Javert at last gave up on this staged act and dodged sideways, just before the front door. He ignored the gazes they were drawing from the police men around, and headed straight for the corner. He knew where to find his man, he always did.

"Dubois." he addressed the man smoking in the shadow, and dragged him deeper into the allay, before he had even time to flinch.

"Javert!" Dubois cried, startled. "I …" he glanced at Valjean, only for a second. "I heard you survived. I´m glad."

"Sure you are." Javert shoved him towards the wall, just for emphasis. "Listen. I need some help. You have access to the archives and the files. I need some information."

Dubois´ eyes were jumping like flees. "What kind of information?"

"Check out the name Dumas." Javert ordered. "I need to know if anyone of their family has ever been reported in any way connected to a crime. They could have been witnesses, victims, culprits, I don´t care. I take anything, got it?"

For a moment it looked as if Dubois would simply agree, nodding obediently, just the way Javert knew it from him, back in the days when he had been his superior. But then a smug grin appeared on the man´s face.

"Why should I agree to help you?" he asked. "What´s in it for me?"

Instead of answering him Javert just glared. When he moved at last, Dubois flinched, probably expecting a punch or another physical attack. But instead Javert just snatched the cigarette away from him, holding it up before his nose.

"How often have you left your post for these?" he asked. "Three times an hour? Last time I checked it came close." He wouldn´t allow Dubois to open his mouth and object with a lie. "You wouldn´t want the prefect to know about this, would you?" he asked and received a pouting glare for it. Just as he thought. "Check the files for me and none of this is my concern anymore."

Dubois didn´t respond. He just kept glaring.

"I guess we understand each other." Javert let go of him, after one last push, just to remind Dubois of their agreement. He raised his brows at him asking, waiting for an answer.

"All right, all right." Dubois massaged himself, as if Javert had actually hurt him. "I´ll see what I can do. We can meet in an hour, on the Pont au Change."

"Not there." Javert had to suppress a shiver. "We meet at the stables."

It was the first place that came to his mind. A place he remembered that felt safe. The thought of this damn bridge was irritating him more than he liked to admit. The stables at least were solid ground, familiar.

Dubois frowned for a second but didn´t object. "Whatever." he straightened at last. "Can I have my cigarette, please? They´re not cheap."

Javert simply dropped the disgusting thing and squelched it under his shoe without a word "Be in time." he ordered and eventually allowed Dubois to sneak away from them.

"Is there no other friend of yours you could have asked for help?" Valjean asked watching him go. "Someone who doesn´t hate you like that?"

Javert only looked at him, and didn´t say a word.

**...**

When they approached the stables behind the police station-house, Javert at last was glad that he had chosen this place. He instantly felt at home in this surrounding, the familiar smell of the horses in his nose. It hurt to know that this was not his place to be anymore.

"I tell you this is a bad idea." Valjean looked about as if they´d stepped into a haunted house. "This is not a good place."

Dear God. "It´s where I told him to meet us, now deal with it. It is as good as any other place." He turned to a pair of the horses, bound to a post outside the stable. They looked at him curious, ears twitching.

"That´s not what I meant." Valjean growled and Javert glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Well, what _did_ you mean?"

He held the other man´s gaze sternly, and Valjean, even though he had been ready to give him an answer, sighed now, giving up.

"Nothing." he said. "I meant nothing." Another sigh, still tensed. "Let´s just see what happens."

Javert only snorted. "Yeah, I guess we´ll see." He turned back to the horse, a much better chat partner, especially now. It started sniffing on his pocket, instantly catching scent of the sliced apple he had in there. Javert had meant it as provisions for himself but he guessed he could spare one.

Valjean made his way around him, to the second horse. Javert hurried to withdraw his hand from the horse´s mouth, and settled it between the ears. Valjean didn´t seem as if he´d noticed.

"Maybe we started this whole thing the wrong way." he offered, his hand carefully on the horse´s forehead. "Maybe we should take a step back and … reconsider."

Javert raised a brow. "Reconsider what?"

"The way we want to do these things." Valjean explained, ignoring the horse´s sniffing on his pockets, where it was probably hoping for a snack, just like the one his friend had gotten. "I know we disagree on some things." Valjean went on. "But maybe …" The horse raised it´s head, too fast for him to see it coming, telling him how disappointed it was to find his pockets empty of snacks.

The man flinched back, startled, and Javert smirked. Starter.

"We do disagree, that´s true." he said, caressing his own horse calmly. "But you can learn."

For a moment Valjean seemed off balance. "That´s not what I meant." he frowned, and once again Javert chuckled.

"I know."

The line between Valjean´s eyes deepened. He was sufficiently irritated. Good.

Javert´s joy over this was cut rudely short though, when Dubois made his entrance. But he was not alone.

The former inspector stepped away from the horses, instinctively taking a stance. The men Dubois had brought along did not look friendly.

Valjean obviously agreed on this. He instantly dragged Javert back, trying to get away, through the stable. The only problem was, their enemies had considered that. Three more of them came out of the stable, blocking their way, and their exit was spoiled.

Valjean cursed under his breath, and Javert jerked his arm free. "What is this?" he demanded to know, facing Dubois and his troop. "Are you seriously trying to arrest us on false charges? We didn´t trespass in here and you know that."

"We don´t wanna arrest anyone." Dubois spoke, sleekly, and one of his pals agreed: "We just wanna have a talk to you."

Valjean skipped back, to keep his distance from those men. His back bumped into Javert´s, and it wasn´t before that that Javert actually realized they were surrounded.

"I knew this was a bad idea." Valjean hissed, and Javert felt the anger rise in his head.

"What do you want?" he roared at Dubois, but it was Valjean who answered him.

"I told you what they´d want, Javert. God dammit!"

Javert glared at Dubois and his friends. "So this is what all this is about? You must be kidding me."

"You betray your own and expect to be treated like a friend?" Dubois asked. "Come on, Javert. Don´t tell me you´re surprised."

"These men were traitors. They committed crimes, something we all once swore to fight, to protect the law!"

None of these men seemed impressed by his outburst. Their gazes were cold and unmoved, full of hate and anger. Anger that was directed at him. He just couldn´t believe it.

"What do you want to do? Take revenge? For these criminals that claimed to be police men? For Lecomte the traitor? Is that what you want? IS THAT … WHAT YOU WANT!"

"Javert." Valjean held him back. "Maybe fretting them even more is not the best way to get out of here."

"I don´t want to get out of here." he once again freed his arm from Valjean. "I´ll kick your asses if you come any closer, that´s what I´ll do."

"Javert."

Dubois only smiled, amused, in anticipation. As if he truly intended to get his own hands dirty. Just wait you gutless bastard. Javert kept his eyes on all of them, but Dubois would get a special treat, he would see to that.

Valjean´s hand was on his arm again, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. He was trying to get him to back off, Javert knew. But this just called for a lesson. Not like this. Not when these men were wearing the same uniform he´d once worn.

"If you want a piece of me, come and get it." he roared, already halfway on his way to go and get _them_. And of course they took the invitation.

The first man that came his way got Javert´s foot in the stomach, quicker than he probably expected. A second one, who tried to attack Valjean, missed his target when Valjean ducked down. Javert used the man´s momentum and sent him towards his friends. But not before he´d grabbed his sword, drawing it while the former owner fell inelegantly into a heap of horse droppings.

After that rather mild start the rest of the gang was finally set off. But now Javert was ready. They could draw their swords if they wanted to. He was armed now, and he would not let them forget who they were facing here. Valjean bumped into him one last time, and he pushed him back, away and out of his line. He needed space, goddammit!

Five men. Five men who had sworn to hold up the law, not break it like that. Five men who´d been trusted with these swords to protect the citizens of Paris, not to avenge criminals that were not worth the scum in the streets. Javert fought them, not to defend himself or Valjean, but because this was what he´d sworn to do. To fight those who did wrong. And to make them pay. And oh, he did make them pay. In time, one after the other flinched back in shock, as the blade of his sword swished past their faces, close enough to draw blood across their cheeks. A reminder only, but deep enough to serve as an example. Oh he could have done more, if he only wanted to.

The blood on their cheeks made them furious. Like animals that tasted the blood of their prey. Javert could feel the rush. Maybe, just maybe, he´d miscalculated. They were still outnumbered and Valjean was unarmed behind him.

Two of them came at once, from different sides and before he knew it he was disarmed. The next logical thing to happen would be that he´d be gutted by one of_ their_ swords. But instead the man holding him got dragged away and a moment later, practically flew onto his comrades, throwing them down with the impact.

"We should get the hell out of here." Valjean insisted and this time Javert agreed.

He rushed to the horses, instantly, and untied them quickly, swinging himself into the saddle. He´d just only swirled the horse around, when he caught sight of Valjean staring at the second horse as if he didn´t know what to do with it. Was he serious? What was he waiting for?

"I can´t ride." he cried, as if he´d read Javert´s mind, and answering his disbelieving stare he added: "I never learned it."

Behind him their attackers were back on their feet, closing in. And Javert cursed. He spurred his horse into motion, past Valjean, shouting bloody murder. The men backed off from the flying hooves, but that wouldn´t last long. Javert reached down, grabbed Valjean and dragged him up, the horse already moving. It took a moment and Valjean was clinging to him like a drowning cat, but somehow they found their balance. A miracle considering the improvisational character of this whole situation.

Javert made the horse run, race down the street, to get as much distance between them and these bastards as possible. They might be able to follow them. They had enough horses to do so if they wanted to. But after a few corners, they would have some trouble to find the right direction. If Javert knew one thing by now, then how a man could vanish in this labyrinth of streets and allays that went by the name of Paris.

Eventually he slowed the horse down, guiding it into a side street, away from public sight. The last thing they needed now, was someone to spot them on a stolen police horse and call an inspector upon them.

Valjean began climbing down back to the ground almost instantly. After he´d noticed that they had stopped that was. He seemed to be a few miles away, which had obviously taken some effect on his balance. He needed to feel his way down, and without Javert´s body as a guide he would have probably lost his way. When he finally dropped to the ground it sounded like a sack of potatoes that by some strange coincidence wore shoes.

Javert watched him for a moment, pale as he was, before he swung himself down as well. Valjean really was unbelievable. How could this man have managed it to hide from him in all those years? By staying away from horses he guessed.

Apropos.

Javert sent the animal on its way, back out of the allay. One clap on its back and it idly trotted away. Javert glanced at his partner for a moment, before turning the other way. It was still better to get away from here, just in case.

But obviously Valjean had some objections.

"Would you mind explaining to me what that was?" he asked, stopping him.

Javert was startled. "What? That? That´s called riding."

"You know what I mean." Valjean insisted. His old strength seemed to be back for him quickly. "This stunt at the stable. Did you want this to happen? You did, didn´t you?"

"What? That they lured us into a trap?" Javert kept walking. "Yeah, sure, that was totally on purpose."

"That´s not what I mean. I´m talking to you." Valjean grabbed his collar, forcing him around. "We could have avoided this fight." he insisted. "What the hell was that supposed to prove? And this scratch you gave each of them? What was _that_? Was that your way of teaching them to never forget your name, inspector Javert?"

Instead of answering this insult Javert grabbed Valjean´s coat, the same way Valjean held _him_. "Maybe next time I should just allow them to beat us up." he hissed into his face. "Would you like that better?"

The former convict did not give a response. But he didn´t let go either. All he did was stare, as if that alone could win this argument for him. And Javert, just as well, stared right back at him. A contest between the two of them, in which neither would ever be able to win. And they both knew that.

Maybe it wasn´t his key after all, Javert mused for a second, losing his focus. Maybe someone else had the same sort of key. It was possible. Maybe everyone who lived there had keys looking like that. It could be, right? Right?

Valjean let go first, Javert recalled now, as if part of his mind was still focused on the task at hand. To tell events in the right order, even while this other part of him tried to distract. Javert clung to the order of events and went on. He´d instinctively released Valjean from his grip, the moment his own collar was free. They´d both given up on this staring contest at last.

"I told you from the beginning it was a bad idea to go to the station." Valjean repeated one more time, as if this would make a difference now.

Javert straightened his sleeve, huffing. "And you were right, is that what you want to hear?"

"You really thought they would be happy to see you after what happened? You are the reason why some of them are rotting in prison along with Lecomte."

"I know and alone the thought makes me sick. That they´re blaming me for doing the right thing." Javert was panting in his anger, staring into this dumbfounded face of his former convict. Now the only man that would stand by his side in the face of a world that was upside down. "This is why I took on this uniform." he told him unable to help himself. "This is why they should wear it now. These men committed crimes, disgraced the uniforms they wore and betrayed the oath they had sworn, and _I´m_ the traitor? It´s not right."

For a moment Javert could not go on. He hated it that there was an actual lump in his throat after this, and oh God, how much he hated it to get that gaze from Valjean. So sympathetic and maddeningly understanding.

"It isn´t." he agreed, gently. "Of course it isn´t." His smile vanished with a deep sigh. "But that´s the world … Javert. Just because a man wears a uniform doesn´t mean that he´s righteous and good." Javert looked up, noticing the pause that followed, and faced a wondering face, as if Valjean was in awe about something all the sudden. "And I can´t believe my luck," he then said. "That it was you and not someone like those, who hunted me all these years."

If it hadn´t been enough already, this last remark gave Javert the rest. What was wrong with this world? There had been a time when things were simple. When he´d known that those who wore the uniform were doing good, and criminals, even former criminals, were not to be trusted. And now here he was. Running from the uniforms, and he knew, just knew, that he´d rather trust _this_ man with his life than any of those.

The world lay in pieces, turned over and reversed in its most fundamental aspects. And he feared that maybe it had been like this all along, without him even knowing.

It didn´t matter. Nothing of this mattered anymore. He was powerless to change any of this. So he could as well let it be and just accept, right? Only that he didn´t believe he ever could.

Valjean padded his shoulder, as if they were old friends, sharing memories that were decades old – maybe they were.

"Let´s get home." the old con spoke. "Don´t worry. It´s not over yet. Maybe the boy I hired will bring us something."

Javert didn´t expect the laughter that came up in him, but somehow it felt good. "Yeah, sure." he snorted. What a dreamer. He probably even meant that.

As they walked down the allay, he threw a side glance at Valjean, subconsciously shaking his head.

"What?" Valjean asked, when he noticed it.

Javert snorted yet again. "I can´t believe you don´t know how to ride a horse." he said and finally, Valjean was the one who looked embarrassed.

He gave a tiny chuckle and shrugged, helplessly. "Maybe you could teach me." he suggested, probably just to have anything to respond at all.

But of course that was something Javert could not let pass just like this. "Maybe?" he asked, and his gaze alone should be enough to inform Valjean what he had just signed up for. He could bet his ass Javert would teach him, and he better didn´t dare to suck at it.

**...**

"Quiet a story, inspector." Vidocq set down his glass. He´d held it without noticing it, mesmerized by the story, for over ten minutes. "I don´t blame you for not coming to see me anymore that day."

But Javert glanced up, knowing the mistake in Vidocq´s thinking. And he corrected him.

"The day wasn´t over."

**...**

The police men had been a rather mild interruption compared to what was still waiting for them. Knowing this now it was hard for Javert to remember why he´d been so agitated over this little ruffle. In comparison it had been nothing. Nothing at all.

But like it was with all the minor fights in our lives, back then, when he hadn´t been so much wiser, it had felt different. Very different. When he´d entered Valjean´s house, he´d felt as if he´d been through the longest day. His muscles were hurting like those of an old man and on the inside he wished nothing more than to drop into a chair – preferably the soft armchair at the chimney – and fall asleep in there.

On the outside he was still grumpy, and ready to kick everyone´s butt should someone rub him the wrong way, be it by accident or not.

Valjean looked about, just before he closed the door. Searching. The boy he had expected was nowhere in sight.

"I told you he wouldn´t show." Javert said, but Valjean would not be discouraged that easily.

"Maybe he´ll come later." he closed the door.

Javert snorted.

"You want some tea?" his host offered, and in his exhaustion, Javert simply sighed.

"Yeah, why not."

He followed Valjean into the kitchen, lowering himself into the less comfortable wooden chair and allowed himself to be served. When the cup was at last steaming before him, Valjean spoke up again.

"I think you should stay here tonight." he nonchalantly stirred his own tea. "And maybe the rest of the week." Javert glanced at him in a very defined way, but Valjean answered his gaze unyielding. "These officers probably know your address." he explained his reasoning. "They might decide to pay you a visit. I´m surprised they haven´t done already. But now that you rattled their cage …"

"You are concerned about my health?" Javert taunted with a smirk that was meant to look mean and mocking. But Valjean replied, totally serious:

"I´m concerned about your health since you started to show those suicidal tendencies."

And it wasn´t before it was out that the speaker himself realized how delicate of a subject this still was.

For a moment none of them spoke a word. Javert took the cup closer to himself, as if he now finally wanted a sip of the tea. But in the end the cup remained where it was. God dammit, Valjean.

"Anyway." the other man broke the silence at last, clearing his throat. "You can hide away from them here. At least for a while."

"I don´t intend to hide from them." Javert heard himself say. Or maybe he only heard it from the outside now that he looked back on those events. It was quite possible that back then, he´d actually meant it. As insane as it sounded to him now.

Valjean had been smarter. He had known how mad it sounded, right from the beginning.

"You _want_ this to happen?" he´d cried. "If they come to your house at night … and don´t tell me this could never happen." he wouldn´t allow Javert to claim anything of the kind. "The law won´t protect you." he told him. "They are the law now, and you are nothing against them."

"Thank you very much."

"You know what I mean. You´d stand alone against them all."

Javert had not looked at Valjean, when he replied: "I´m used to that."

There had been silence for a moment. And then a heartfelt: "Antoine."

Javert had cringed. Why? Why did he always have to use that name in exactly those moments? As if he knew. He knew, goddammit. Not even avoiding his gaze would help.

"You aren´t alone." Valjean tried to tell him. "Not anymore."

Javert would still not look at him. Rather would it freeze in hell. He remembered closing his fists, and that Valjean had probably seen it. But he hadn´t said a word. It was nothing he knew how to talk about. Ever. And even less did he know how to handle a feeling like this. It made him all too vulnerable. And vulnerability was dangerous. It could be lethal. It could be used against you by your enemies. And enemies he had enough these days.

He was glad, relieved actually, when they heard the front door, two pairs of feet shuffling in, and the voice of the boy, Marius, calling out for: "Monsieur? Are you there? You must come fast!"

**...**

Vidocq was listening, so mesmerized, although he tried to hide it. "I assume they brought some news … that kept you busy?" he helplessly tried to get the story from Javert.

And Javert just looked at him.

"What did they say?" Vidocq was letting go of his patience.

"It wasn´t what they had to say." Javert told him. "But how she looked. The girl. Cosette. It was the way she stood there, in the door."

Valjean had gasped, beside him, at the sight. And so had he. He´d felt as if the blood had left his head, in one big drain, and he´d felt dizzy in this moment. The sight of her, Cosette, the kid that Valjean loved like she was his own. She was just standing there, pale and silent like death in person, on the hand of her fiance. And the beautiful white autumn dress she´d worn that day, had been unrecognizable, covered with the deepest red. Covered with blood.


	4. Blood

**Blood **

"Oh God, Cosette." Valjean didn´t even notice his chair toppling over, as he ran to his daughter. But she only raised a hand, way too calm for her own appearance. Even Javert was flustered by the sight of her bloody dress.

"I´m fine." she told him, and her voice sounded tired, not scared, or concerned, or any of the other mental states a young woman like her should be in, when she showed up, covered over and over in blood. Not hers.

"What happened?" Valjean demanded to know. He glared at the boy, clearly wishing for a reason to blame him on the spot. But he didn´t have one, not yet.

"I didn´t get there until it was over." the boy said, unwillingly giving Valjean what he´d waited for.

"Why?" he barked. "Where were you when this happened?"

"It wasn´t his fault." Cosette spoke, before Marius had a chance. She sat down, her legs shaking and Valjean went down along with her, kneeling like one would kneel before a small child.

"I went to the theater alone." she told, totally out of context. "And if Pascal hadn´t found _Marius_ here at the house, instead of you,_ he_ wouldn´t have known at all."

Valjean´s eyes searched Javert´s, instinctively. For help? This last remark had clearly been a strike against him. You haven´t been there either, Dad!

"We were … out." Valjean tried to explain his absence and soon would have lost himself in explanations and justifications, things they didn´t have time for. So Javert took over, before it would get out of hand.

"Who´s Pascal?" he asked. "And what theater are you talking about?"

The girl glanced at him for a moment, clearly not amused. But eventually she answered.

"He came here with a message for Papa. He said you payed him to find someone. A family?"

"The boy." Valjean´s gaze was full of awe, shock almost. The kid had come back after all.

"Did he find them?" Javert asked and Cosette nodded.

"I told him to show me where they were."

"Cosette!" Valjean visibly paled at the thought, but her gaze was stern.

"You weren´t there." she sounded accusing stating this simple fact. "And I figured that time might be short. I thought I could help."

"You could have send for me." Marius took over, taking her hand again and knelt down before her chair, just like Valjean. He bumped into his side, as if by accident. "I could have come with you." he told Cosette. "I could have protected you."

"Really, you could have?" Valjean glared at the boy. "Then why did this happen? I thought you´re so keen about being around her all the time."

"I believe it´s less important _why_ things happened, than _what_!" Javert stopped this ridiculous fight before it could even start. "I for my part am dying to know _what_ happened at this damn _theater_."

All three of them lowered their eyes for a moment, like rebuked children. Good.

"Pascal told me that there were people there." Cosette went on. "Homeless. They work in a kitchen in the back of the theater, running a small restaurant for the poor. The owner of the theater allows them to sleep in the old dorm if they want to."

"And our family is there too?" Had it not been for Cosette´s bloody dress, Javert would have stormed out and marched to the theater at once. But the blood spoke a clear language. Something had already happened there. Something bad.

"Did they attack you?" Valjean was aghast at the idea. "Or one of the others there?"

But Cosette shook her head. "No everyone there was really nice." she said and for a moment her collected mask cracked, and Javert could see tears in her eyes. "You would like them, really. The things they accomplished there …" she shook her head. "But I didn´t get a chance to speak to those people you searched."

Valjean took both her hands, out of Marius´, as if the boy wasn´t even there. "Cosette." he spoke, softly. "What happened?"

For a moment Javert believed the girl would start crying, but then she pulled it back, just as quick as it had started, and simply kept talking.

"I sent Pascal back to the house." she gulped the rest of this lump in her throat. "In case you´d be back by then. I thought in the meantime I could talk to some of those people. Find this family before you got there. To save you some time." She took a shaking breath. "Only I didn´t." Her gaze showed clearly how she was reliving the fear again, while the memories came back to her. "Someone else did."

"Oh God." Valjean exclaimed and his gaze was so helpless. So lost. "I should have never … I …"

"It was not her place to be." Javert stopped him, impatiently. "And she was not supposed to be here at the house either. That the boy found her was nothing you could have foreseen." he turned to Cosette. "And you shouldn´t have meddled in our business, Mademoiselle. These things are not for civilians. There is police and there is citizens. You could have gotten hurt."

Cosette glared at him, with seething disgust. "You are not police either." she stated clearly, her voice so low he almost didn´t hear it. Almost. God, this girl knew how to aim.

"But he´s right." Valjean saved him, finally getting up. "You shouldn´t have gone there. What if you´d gotten hurt? You have any idea what that would have done to me?"

"Or me." Marius demanded his share of attention.

"I …"

"She still hasn´t told us what happened." Javert raised a hand, stepping between this.

"What happened?" Marius cried. "These men you´re hunting … They found her. That´s what happened."

"What?" Valjean was too startled by these news to realize the accusation behind the boy´s words. And that was probably a good thing.

"They killed a man." Marius cried. "Before her eyes. They could have killed her too. If I hadn´t interrupted them just in time …"

"Cosette." Valjean was back with his daughter instantly, but this time Marius would not allow him to steal his show. He seriously grabbed Valjean, and made him look at him, away from her.

"I don´t know what you were thinking when you brought these things into her life." he hissed at him. "But maybe this is something totally normal for an ex criminal like you."

Javert instinctively moved when Valjean grabbed the boy. There was something unusually dangerous in his eyes. Something the boy seemed unreceptive for.

"All right, that´s enough!" the former inspector bellowed, tearing them apart.

He shoved them both away from Cosette, making it clear that this fight would not be fought today. And the girl, as unbelievable as it was, actually took her place behind his shoulder, as if she was glad to be shielded from this, even if it was by him. When he was sure neither Valjean nor the boy would object against his intervention, he turned to the girl.

"Would you mind telling the story yourself?"

She only nodded, grateful actually to be put back in charge. "I talked to the owner of that theater. Told her we´d like to support her project with some money. She shouldn´t be scared by me asking questions."

Javert nodded, silently commenting her about this approach.

"And then there was noise from above." she went on. "As if people were fighting. And shouts."

"Yeah, I heard that too." Marius chipped in. "I´d just arrived with the kid."

"_She´s_ talking!" Javert silenced him. "What happened?"

"You heard a scream, Marius." she corrected her fiance. "That was later." She glanced at Javert briefly but obviously felt more comfortable looking at her father. "They took the wife." she said. "I don´t know why. When we ran upstairs … all I could see was the blood. It was everywhere." She needed a moment to collect herself. "They´d stabbed the man. He lay on the ground. Some others tried to help him, but … I don´t believe they chased them away. These people were too scared to have scared _anyone_ away. I tried …" she shook her head, helplessly. "I didn´t know how to help the man. He was already fading."

"Cosette, I´m so sorry." Valjean spoke. "You shouldn´t have seen this."

"He grabbed me." she just went on, ignoring her father´s words, as well as her fiance´s glare at Valjean. "In his struggle with death. He begged me to find and save his wife. To bring her back. Because she was the only one who knew."

Javert was not alone with his impatience to hear her continue. Only she didn´t.

"Knew?" he asked. "Knew what?"

But Cosette only looked at him, chuckling quietly. Good question, right? "He died …" she said. "Before he could tell me."

Dammit.

"What you heard, Marius, was the scream of the woman." Cosette went back again. "They dragged her behind … I guess. I could hear her but I couldn´t move."

"Yeah, I …" Marius was much more humble all the sudden. "I saw a carriage leave." He turned to Javert. "I found her over the bleeding man. She told me to hurry and stop these men. I tried, but I wasn´t fast enough. All I saw was the fiacre driving away."

"What kind of fiacre?" Javert instantly asked. "How big? How many horses?"

"Big." the student answered. "Two horses."

All right. Javert nodded. That at least was better than nothing.

"We´ll go back there." he decided, actually ordering Valjean, who wouldn´t have moved from his daughter´s side if it had been up to him. "See what we can find out." he turned to Marius. "You stay with her. And from now on," he faced Cosette. "You´ll leave this kind of work to your father and me. You understand?"

He could see in her eyes, that if things had been different, and if she hadn´t just watched a man die under her hands, she would have objected, never giving him any right at all to tell her what to do. But she _had_ seen a man die, and no matter how well she hid it, she was shocked, and scared to death.

Javert just nodded, grateful not to hear any objections for a change. A single glance at Valjean was all it took, and his partner followed him outside. Hesitating but he did.

**...**

"And did you find anything at the theater?" Vidocq asked him.

"It was already getting dark." Javert answered as if this would excuse their lack of success. "These people were not the most talkative ones. And the few things they could tell us, were not very helpful. From what I remember it had not been a planned killing. The man had struggled against those kidnappers, and by some stupid accident had gotten a knife into his guts. Probably a knife he´d tried to use himself to fight those men." He shook his head. "They took the wife as a substitute. For whatever information she had in her head."

Vidocq frowned, deeply. "You don´t know what it was?"

Javert looked up, but didn´t answer. And Vidocq sighed.

"What did you do after that?"

"You misunderstand." Javert closed his eyes, taking his glass again, before glancing back up at Vidocq. "It wasn´t over. Not that night."

He could see how the burly spy began to guess something. His eyes went down, wandering around for a moment, trying to think.

"When exactly was that?" he asked, for confirmation, and Javert almost laughed. Good, he was getting there.

"Two days ago." he said. "Wednesday night."

Vidocq´s gaze cleared, mouth opening. "The night of the fire."

The smile that had somehow snuck onto Javert´s features vanished, never to be seen again. He didn´t even need to nod. Vidocq knew he was right.

"It was Valjean´s house that burned that night." He looked past Vidocq, into the distance, and the memory was enough to bring the pictures back. "We saw the smoke. Even from the theater." he shook his head, still not able to get the image out of his mind. "We both knew instantly that something was wrong. We just didn´t know how wrong."

**...**

When they´d gotten back, the house had been blazing. Thanks to some godly blessing, that Javert could not quite believe in, the firewards had reached the street very quick. Probably the only reason why the house remained the only loss that night, and not the whole neighborhood.

The police was there too, securing the street while the firemen were pumping water onto the house. One officer was very busy with the two witnesses, he´d found. Especially with the female one.

Cosette for her own part was very busy trying to get him off her case.

"I said I´m fine!" she cried, pushing him away, as he tried to examine her closer. When she saw her father though, she finally became the child again she had once been.

"Papa!" she threw herself into his arms, and Valjean of course was holding her tight.

Javert stepped between them and the officer, who still wasn´t willing to be dismissed.

"Keep your distance, man." he told him, still very polite for his standards. But the young officer was not intimidated that easily.

"You know I can´t do that." he told him, and the gaze he saw reminded Javert of some of the better young men he´d known under his command. He regarded the young lad, trying to read him.

"You know me, don´t you?" he asked for confirmation and the officer nodded.

"Yes, I do."

Javert narrowed his eyes. "You know what happened today?" he demanded, but this time he only received a frown, suspicious, but unknowing. No, he´d not been with these men that had attacked him and Valjean. But that didn´t have to mean anything.

"Javert!" Valjean´s call made him swirl around. There was something in his gaze – something urgent and demanding, and it told Javert instantly that something was wrong.

He gestured for the officer to stay where he was and repeated one last time, emphasizing: "Keep your distance."

The man started to follow, demanding his place, but Javert stopped him.

"I said … give us a second."

This time his tone worked. The man stopped, and took a step back. He would not be dismissed for long though, Javert could tell. But at least he respected their wish for the moment. A good man. Or at least the potential for one. Javert turned to Valjean.

The ex convict grabbed his arm, and alone this gesture was enough to tell Javert that he was scared. Just how much, Javert knew when he whispered into his ear.

"She said a man came, asking for me." Valjean´s grip got stronger. "Antoine. For _me._"

It took Javert a moment, but seeing the fear in Valjean´s eyes, he finally began to understand the meaning of his words. For him. Him. Dear God.

He looked about, by instinct, searching the surroundings with his eyes. Corners and shadows everywhere. So many places where someone could hide. Watching. Waiting. And he could see nothing, no one at all. The fire blinded his eyes for the darkness, making it even more impenetrable.

Again the hand on his arm grabbed faster, demanding his attention. "I know he´s here." Valjean hissed. "He´s here, Antoine. He´s watching us." his eyes were on the same dark spots Javert had eyed just a moment ago, and his eyes were so haunted. Like that of a mad man. A paranoid. Only Javert knew better than to call him that.

Valjean shook his head. "If we leave this place, he´ll find us." he looked so helpless now, pleading Javert for advice. For help. Guidance. "She´d never be save, no matter where I hide her."

For a moment, Javert felt Valjean´s helplessness infecting him. He was right. Of course he was right. There was no way they could ever be completely sure to have lost their pursuer before they´d go to their homes, no matter if it would be the apartment or the Pontmercy mansion. An attacker like this would not be stopped by any of those doors. And catching him was very unlikely. So what to do? What? If they didn´t find a way now, they´d never sleep again.

Dammit, if only he still held the power he once held. He would be able to protect them. But this way he was powerless. So …

His head swirled around, back to the young officer. And his feet started moving before he even knew it.

"We need to report a burglary." he told the man, and the officer frowned.

"All right." he said. "I listen."

"Not here. At the station."

The man narrowed his eyes. And Javert stepped closer.

"Listen to me. You say you know me. Then you must know I don´t trust the police anymore, not after what happened."

"Then why do you want to come to the station?"

"Exactly."

That was all Javert would say, and somehow his gaze did the rest. The young officer might not completely understand it all, but he understood enough to know that this was about something more serious than a simple burglary gone wrong.

"You want to come and report." he repeated, as if to make sure. Javert nodded. And the officer raised his brows. "To report what happened?"

Javert halted, only for a second. "You´ll get a report." he promised, nothing more. "You do want to know where the blood on her dress comes from, don´t you?"

He gestured behind himself at Cosette, and the young officer reconsidered. Eventually he nodded. "All right. But it better be a good explanation."

"Right." Javert agreed, but didn´t intent to explain what he meant. He´d talked to this lad long enough. Now there were other people who needed his attention.

"What are you doing?" Valjean hissed, more scared than before. "Why would you …?"

But this time Javert´s grip was faster than Valjean´s, and his warning glare, merely inches away from his own face, silenced him. He didn´t need to say it. Valjean understood more than enough only by this glance. And Javert knew the only thing he could say that would silence him for good. Something Valjean hated as much as he hated it when Valjean called him Antoine. Because he was just as powerless against it.

He said: "Trust me."

**...**

There was a tiny smirk in Vidocq´s eyes, but for the most part he was anxious. Anxious to hear the next part.

"What did you tell them?" he asked, and Javert almost laughed about this eagerness. Like a child that wanted to hear the ending to a campfire story. Well, since this was why he was still here in this house, and not out there in the streets fighting for his life and running from the police like a dog, he could as well do him the favor.

"We told them there´d been a burglary. That two men struggled for reasons we didn´t know. And the blood on the girl´s dress was from that."

Vidocq laughed, very delighted now. "Not even a lie. Very good. What did they say?"

Javert watched him snicker, amused as if witnessing a very funny stage act. And the burly spy seemed to be amused even more by his silence.

"Don´t tell me they believed you." he chuckled and Javert closed his eyes, tired of it at last.

"Of course they didn´t believe it."

**...**

He had expected it would be him who´d lose his patience with the police first, knowing that there´d be questions that probably wouldn´t make much sense – and yes, he was well aware of the fact that there´d been a time when he´d asked these questions and that back then they _had_ made sense to him. But since he knew better by now, of course he´d seen it coming. Maybe that was the reason why he could stand it longer than Valjean, who once again managed it to take him by surprise, bursting out in the middle of their questioning.

"Someone … set my house on fire!" he cried, throwing both of his hands on Gisqet´s desk. "I don´t know who it was and neither does my daughter. We told you he wore a mask."

"They." Javert corrected, quickly, before Valjean could blow their story with his outburst.

"It just seems strange to me that you insisted on reporting, and now that you actually have the chance to report you refuse to give us any details."

"There are no details." Javert stated, collected, before Valjean could shout again.

The police prefect regarded him, suspiciously, and eventually found: "I find that hard to believe. An observant man like you? And you missed details?"

"We weren´t there when it happened."

"You weren´t."

Javert could feel Valjean´s anger increase at the sound of doubt in Gisquet´s voice. But it was the young officer who spoke first after that.

"Actually …" he said, gaining the prefect´s attention with his professional tone. "It´s true. They arrived after the firewards had already started to put out the fire."

Gisqet only raised a doubting brow. "They could have left the scene before you got there and come back to make it look like that."

"Oh dear God, you really believe what you´re saying?" Valjean finally cried out. "You suspect Javert, again, of a crime he didn´t commit? Didn´t you do enough of that already?"

"Monsieur, calm down." Gisqet demanded, but without success.

"Instead of suspecting him of a ridiculous crime, you should rather ask why some of your men wear cuts on their cheeks lately."

Javert took his arm, trying to silence him before it got out of hand, but Gisqet had heard it, and there was no way to change that again.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"You heard me."

Javert tugged Valjean a little more. "Let´s go. They have no reason to hold us." He faced the prefect. "And we´re done here."

"Just one more minute, Javert." Gisqet rose from his seat. "Alone?"

"No." Valjean instantly denied, and somehow managed it to sound like a stubborn kid. Javert made him look at him, telling him with a nod, to let it be. That he would handle this.

"Wait outside with your daughter." he told him, and after a disdainful glance at Gisqet Valjean obeyed.

"You too, Birringer." the prefect ordered his officer. "This is between me and Javert."

The young man performed a quick respectful bow and left without a word. And Javert watched his former boss, walk around the desk, towards him.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "We have nothing more to say."

"I was wondering." Gisqet spoke. "An inspector as dedicated as you … I can´t imagine you staying out of the force like you did all these months."

"I thought it healthier to stay away from it for a change."

Gisqet didn´t react to the implication, if he´d even heard it. But on the other hand … of course he had.

"Tell me one thing." Javert could not help but ask. "Do you know about it? Did you hear what they did and decided to look the other way?"

Again Gisquet wouldn´t answer. Instead he forced the chat into another direction, rather obvious.

"I was wondering who this man is." he gestured for the door. "You never had any friends, not as long as I know you."

"He´s not a friend."

"Then what is he? A partner in crime?"

"That´s not your concern." Javert tried to turn around.

"I´ve known men like you my whole life." Gisqet insisted. "A dedication like yours usually doesn´t change sides. What was it that earned him your loyalty?"

Javert felt tempted to leave the prefect without an answer and that probably would have been for the best. But something inside him just couldn´t be stopped.

He said: "He never tried to kill me. Not even remotely."

And seeing the proper reaction in Gisqet´s face, he finally turned away and left.

**...**

They´d dropped the kids off at the Pontmercy mansion, figuring they´d be safest there. After they finally reached Valjean´s apartment, the old man went straight to the window, peeking out like a paranoid.

"You think he followed us?" he whispered. And Javert didn´t say anything. He silently reached past him and closed the curtains, blocking his view out as well as anyone´s view in.

"I have no idea how you managed it to hide from me for that long." he growled. "It is as if you _want_ someone to see you."

Valjean visibly got smaller at this, but his worry wasn´t gone at all. "What if he followed us to the mansion after all?" he asked. "If he´s planning to attack them during the night. We should have stayed there."

"He´s after you, not them."

"And if he plans to get to me over Cosette? We shouldn´t have left her there alone."

Javert grabbed his shoulder, stopping him with force when he tried to head for the door, to run straight back to the mansion. "Stop that." he demanded.

"She´s safe where she is. No one followed us, not there not here. Trust me. I´ve got a feeling for these things."

"So do I."

"Really?" Javert glanced at him, blankly, asking. "Do you really? Or do you rather see shadows wherever you go? After all this time I wouldn´t be surprised."

Valjean relaxed a little, defeated, under Javert´s hand. And the former inspector nodded, satisfied.

"Go to bed." he ordered. "Rest. You´re half dead by now."

"You don´t have to take care of me like this."

But Javert insisted. "Yes, I do. Go."

When he saw the old man smile at him, so grateful, his hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder tighter. And while his mind still told him that this was wrong, that it hadn´t happened like that, he pulled Valjean in, and hugged his old foe, so tight as if he was hugging his long lost brother.

It was wrong. Altering memories like that felt like a betrayal. Javert knew that. Even if he did it secretly, without letting anyone – especially Vidocq – know. But he also knew that the last thing on Valjean´s mind would have been embarrassment. He probably would have reacted just like Javert imagined it now. Startled at first but accepting then, embracing the gesture. And he wouldn´t have cared at all, even if the whole world would have seen it. Sentimental old man.

Yeah, he probably would have, if it had ever happened. If Javert ever had had the courage to do this. If this leopard would have been able to change his spots, then maybe he could have actually given this kind of comfort. The way he felt it that night, not capable of dealing with the feeling then. In retrospective things always looked different. Felt different. And knowing what he knew now, Javert wished he would have done it. He really did.

But he hadn´t. The truth was that they had parted without much ardor, that Valjean had silently accepted his order to go to sleep, and the only true part in this made up memory was the grateful smile he´d given Javert. Javert had watched him go, and his eyes had been drawn to the key, still in the lock of the door. It hadn´t been the first time that he´d seen the silly heart shape carved into it. And he still regarded it as corny as ever.

He recalled having turned the key a second time, before he returned to the window to take his post there for the night. Just in case someone really should have followed them. But no one came for them that night. … Not in _that_ night.


	5. In the Underground

**In the Underground  
**

Javert felt a dizziness behind his eyes, making his lids heavy. The deep breath he took was not enough to chase away the exhaustion. Not completely. But he was far from admitting that.

His hand shoved the glass away, as if it knew it was partly the Cognac´s fault that his strength was abandoning him.

"You could need some rest." Vidocq suggested. "You´ve been through a lot as it seems, so …"

"What I need, is for you to let me finish." Javert talked over him. "I need you to know what happened last night. Because I´ll need your help … to find the man who set this fire."

Vidocq regarded Javert for a moment, uncertain, probably considering if it was a good idea to object. In the end he just sighed.

"I listen."

And Javert was sure he would.

"We came to see you the next morning." he started again, and gave Vidocq a second to admit his own failure, maybe even apologize. It would be the least he could do.

"I guess I wasn´t the most polite guy that day." the burly spy said, and Javert had to restrain himself.

"You were out of the door before we even had a chance to come in."

"I had been ordered to the mayor´s office on short notice." Vidocq explained, defensively. "They said they might close my office before we even got a chance to start the business. That would have kicked you guys out of the job too."

"We never asked for that job." Javert growled. "And a: Sorry, not now. Is hardly what I´d call not being the most polite."

"I´m sorry." Vidocq still sounded defensive.

Javert simply lowered his gaze, not willing to fight about things that were done. "It wasn´t my idea to ask for your help anyway. It was once again Valjean who thought you´d be in any way useful. After he saw his mistake I took him back to the theater. To keep investigating."

Javert halted for a second and a tiny smirk crept over his lips. He hadn´t expected to find something right away. But admitting that wouldn´t have taught Valjean that he, Javert, had been right all along. Right?

**...**

A whole bunch of people was gathered together at the tiny restaurant, standing in a circle, discussing as if they faced the world´s most important question. The real reason though turned out to be a boy. Valjean´s little employee. And the kid seemed very distraught. His eyes went wide when he spotted the two of them. And the adult beside him instantly stepped before him, shielding the kid.

"Are you the father of this boy?" Valjean asked, and the man shook his head.

"No." he regarded them both with a mixture of anger and distrust. "But we´re friends."

"I saw your house." the kid shoved himself past his protector. His gaze was full of fear and sorrow and his voice so quiet, it was almost inaudible. "The mademoiselle?"

Seeing the tears in the boy´s eyes, Javert knew what would happen next. And Valjean, predictable as he was, promptly did it. He went down to his knees.

"Dear boy. You don´t have to worry." he assured him. "She´s fine. We´re all fine. It …" he searched Javert´s gaze for a second. "It was just an accident. A very tragic accident."

Something about the kid´s reaction told Javert that he knew very well how false this was, but for some reason decided to keep his mouth shut.

"I came there to tell you …" he started instead, visibly forcing himself. "I followed the carriage." his eyes went up to Javert for a moment, as if searching for some sort of salvation. "The one that took the lady last night."

The man beside the boy exclaimed, exasperated, as if he´d heard that too many times by now. "You should have never _done_ that." he cried. "They could have seen you. Could have hurt you."

"She asked me to do that." the kid cried, defensively. "She told me to find out where they´d go."

"Where the family would go. Not a bunch of murderers. Are you out of your mind, Pascal?"

Javert stepped forward. "Did you actually see where they went?" he asked and the kid nodded.

"To a place just outside the city. In the woods."

"Can you describe the way for us?" Valjean asked, eagerly, but this time the boy shook his head.

"I can only show you. You´d never find it."

"No." the man who was not the boy´s father tried to forbid it, but got ignored.

"And we need to hurry." the kid urged. "Before they hurt the lady."

Valjean straightened and searched Javert´s gaze. The question was clear in his eyes, but Javert didn´t need to say it.

"I´ll find us a fiacre." Valjean agreed, already on his way.

"No driver." Javert mentioned, although he was pretty sure Valjean had already thought of that. "We don´t know what we´ll find there."

He regarded the kid, and the boy lowered his gaze. As if he were ashamed. Strange. Javert spared asking him, if_ he_ knew what they´d find there. Maybe he shouldn´t have.

**...**

The sky had clouded over. There was rain ahead. If it would actually fall or pass was a different matter, but right now it made the woods seem much darker than Javert would have liked it. He couldn´t see a goddamn thing. Aside from trees and bushes. What was the boy trying to show them?

"Stop here." he instructed them at some random point, and Valjean obeyed. There was still nothing to be seen, anywhere.

"We must walk the rest." the kid explained. "The fiacre won´t get there."

He led them off the track and through the trees. It wasn´t far. Only a few dozen feet into the wood he made them hunch down, behind a bush. And at this point Javert didn´t need anyone to point it out for him anymore. He could see the entrance of the tunnel very well. Overgrown by vegetation, but still very visible.

"What´s that?" Valjean whispered amazed.

"That´s where they brought the lady." the kid answered, unnecessarily. Not what Valjean had meant.

"That´s the catacombs." Javert told him and Valjean was simply gobsmacked.

"What? Out here? But … I thought they´re under the city."

"The arms of the tunnels stretch out far, it says." Javert was unable to get his eyes off that entrance. "Beyond the city limits."

"You know about that?"

"I heard stories. From people I questioned. They talked of beggars living in the tunnels. Of … a whole community that exists down there."

"A community?" Valjean´s breath itched when he stared at the entrance.

"Who knows how much of this is true." Javert calmed his excitement. "They talk a lot. It could be a myth." He turned to the kid. "You´re certain they´re in there?" When the boy nodded, the inspector in Javert took over. "How did you manage to follow them here?" he wanted to know.

"I hid on the carriage. In the back. Jumped off when they stopped."

"What did they do with the fiacre?"

"It drove off. I have no idea where." The kid skipped back a little, closer to Valjean. He was nervous under Javert´s interrogating gaze.

"I see." the former inspector looked about, checking the surroundings. "All right. I´ll have a look at this. You wait here. If I don´t return in twenty minutes …"

"You don´t seriously expect me to let you go alone." Valjean spoke over him but Javert would not allow his hotheaded partner to blow the whole thing with his good intentions.

"Running into their arms unprotected and unprepared would be very stupid, now wouldn´t it?" Not even Valjean could argue with that. "I´ll check out the perimeter first. As soon as we know what´s in there, we can …."

Somewhere in the woods a branch broke, startling up a few birds, their cries quickly fading in the distance. After that it was silent again. Only it wasn´t. Not the way it had been before. A different kind of silent, as if even the trees were holding their breath.

"Boy!" Valjean hissed, and that was the moment Javert noticed that the kid had vanished. Snuck away at their moment of distraction. Dammit.

There was another sound in the underwood. Maybe just the natural sounds of the forest, but Javert´s guts told him different.

"That´s not good." he gazed around, searching, and it didn´t really matter how he knew. Fact was he knew: "This is a goddamn trap."

Valjean didn´t ask either. He jumped up when Javert did, and the next thing Javert knew was that they´d already run right into it. Valjean made maybe two steps, when a man blocked his way, and not even his over average strength could save him from this clean knock into the face. Javert saw him fall, just a moment before someone jumped him from behind. Something hit him on the head, leaving him dizzy, and the hands that dragged him into the tunnel had an easy task. He slumped into the wall, like a drunkard, slacking down when his legs gave in. Valjean landed right beside him and rough hands tied them up, wrists and ankles, as if they were in any condition to run away.

Javert had enough coherence left to count the men around them. Five as far as he could see. But there could be more deeper in the tunnel. And the kid. The kid was among them, as if he belonged there. But his eyes betrayed this first impression. He was scared. Uncertain.

"Did you harm the lady?" he dared to ask, after they were done tying Javert´s feet.

"Not yet." one of the men smirked.

"You promised." the boy cried, scandalized. "You said if I bring them here, you´d not harm her."

"And we won´t." the man promised, clearly mocking the kid. "Harming her was never part of the job anyway. Just to deliver her."

The boy´s chest rose and fell, quickly, in his desperation. "But that´s not fair." he actually shouted now and it was seriously painful, even for Javert, to watch this naivety. "You said …"

"Arrrg, come on boy." the man dismissed the crying kid. "Everyone lies. Get used to it." And with that he simply pushed him over to one of his men. "Tie him up."

The second man halted, for a moment, startled. "But … he´s just a boy."

"I said, tie him up." his leader repeated, no argument allowed. "We can´t have him run around or call the cops on us."

The skinny man led the kid to a table, and took the rope. It was a blessing that the boy didn´t struggle. "What are you gonna do with us?" Javert addressed the leader of this gang.

The man regarded him for a moment. "I haven´t decided yet. Depends. What´s your business with this girl?"

Javert had no idea where his next words came from. It was once again pure instinct – but he´d learned to trust his instincts and these men thanks God didn´t seem to take them for police – so he simply said: "She owes us money."

The kidnapper just grinned. "She? The wife of a wainwright? How stupid do you think me?"

Javert rolled his eyes. "Not she. Her husband." And from there his words just came to him as he went, totally depending on the flexibility of his mind. "He was our negotiator. In _business._" he emphasized the word. "Business that would make a lot of money. But since someone recently _killed_ her husband … I´m kinda stuck with her as my last resort to make the deal for me."

The man was frowning. If he believed Javert was a different question – yet – but at least he was thinking.

"What kind of deal?" he wanted to know. "What are you trading that´s so worthwhile?"

Javert tried to think quickly, about some trade that would sound convincing. He opened his mouth but it was Valjean who answered the question.

"Coffee." he said, straight on, and Javert stared at him. He wasn´t the only one who was startled.

"Coffee?" the criminal cried. "You think I´m an idiot?"

"No." Valjean retorted. "Just unaware of how much duty free is appreciated in Germany. The drawback system really itches some businessmen there, so they prefer to do business with someone who doesn´t need the customs inspection office. Certain people pay a lot of money for it. It still comes them cheaper than dealing with this office. Especially when you know that coffee used to be illegal there, only a few years ago."

After this the place was silent for a moment. A profound proof for how impressive this explanation had been. Javert had to give him that. He knew his business. And no matter if this was true or not, it surely sounded convincing enough to be true. He only hoped these guys even knew what Valjean had just said.

The criminal seemed uncertain. He was still considering.

"See?" Javert spoke, supporting Valjean´s story. "This deal offers a lot of money. As in _a lot_! Why do you think we took the effort upon us to follow this girl out here? Because we like her so much? No. She just happens to be the only one who can still make this deal happen."

"How so?"

Time for some daring. Javert glared at the man. "Are you stupid?" he shot. "I just told you. They simply won´t talk to anyone except they are from our wainwright´s family. They know her so we need her. So please tell me she´s still alive and able to talk."

The man behind the leader, glared at Javert with deep anger.

"Why are we standing around here, and let this asshole insult us?" he asked his pal. "Let me cut their throats and end this."

But his leader held up a hand, rather calm. "Let´s just hear them out." he said. "How much money are we talking here?"

Javert gladly gave this one to his trading experienced partner. "Jean." he glanced at a startled Valjean. "The books are your department." he said. "How much´s in the pot this time?"

The ex con needed a moment to get himself back together – maybe calling him by his first name under pressure was not a good idea.

"Well …" he began. "In this case … considering the international price for coffee on the stock market right now … minus taxes and adding the trading profit I´d say … 10.000 at least. If not more."

"Taxes?" the criminal echoed and Javert flinched inwardly. "What kind of smuggler pays taxes?"

But Valjean was not irritated a bit. He merely looked at the man as if this was the most ridiculous question he´d ever heard.

"Are you stupid?" he asked, probably encouraged by Javert´s dare to insult the man earlier. Javert made a mental note to be extra careful in the future, about the things he did while Valjean was nearby.

"Why do you think we´re so successful?" Valjean went on. "We buy the stuff we sell totally legal. It gets into the country like any other good. We buy it for a lower price due to our contacts and sell it for twice sometimes three times as much. Don´t you know anything?"

Javert watched the criminal´s reaction closely. He seemed to take the insults well.

"Sounds like normal trading." he remarked, and Valjean once again, threw his argument right back at him.

"Exactly." he said through gritted teeth. He really looked like a man fed up with the unawareness of another. And even more unbelievable was the fact that it worked.

The criminal was shuffling uncertain, trying to come to a decision. "All right." he said at last. "So you say you could make 10.000 with this girl."

"If she gets to our customer in time."

"When?"

Javert spoke, before Valjean had the chance. "A few hours from now." It sounded like a question. Think you can make that happen, guys?

The two men looked at each other, debating. "That´s more than we´re making now." the leader offered his opinion to the guy who was obviously more important than the others when it came to decision making. The rest of those bastards had stayed in the background rather humble so far.

"Sounds good to me." one of them offered now.

"What would we have to do for that?" another wanted to know, but it was the right hand of the leader who stopped their enthusiasm.

"We don´t even know if they´re telling the truth." he reasoned. "We´d put the business at risk that we´re doing now."

Smart bastard, Javert thought. But once again, Valjean would not be irritated by this fallback.

"We can prove what we say." he claimed, gaining their full attention.

"How." the leader wanted to know.

And Javert could only agree. "Yeah." he glanced at Valjean. "How?"

His mentally hurdle racing partner scowled, facing those men. "We´ve got to fetch the money for the trade." he explained. "We pay the coffee from our deliverers, and then move on to meet our buyers. You simply come with us for that. It´s quite a sum we have to fetch. A sum that should prove to you that we _are_ doing business."

"How much money?"

Javert watched closely, anxious to hear what sum Valjean would come up with.

"Five thousand." Valjean was determined. "I´d add two hundred more for each of you in advance. Just to convince you. Call it a bonus."

The boss of the gang was smirking but his right hand did not seem convinced.

"What´s that supposed to prove?" he asked.

Valjean simply looked at him. "5000?" he asked right back. "Why would I risk so much money plus your bonus, if I couldn´t make much more? That is of course if we get this damn girl to do the trade for us."

Javert was out of the game by now. He was just praying that Valjean wouldn´t blow this. But as it seemed the criminals were indeed finally convinced. They turned away from them for a moment, debating among each other. And Javert took the break to glance at Valjean.

"You´re crazy." he said, but the other man did not bat an eye.

"This crazy guy is about the only friend you have left in this world." he said, and Javert scowled.

"Yeah." he rasped. "Thanks for reminding me."

He could see the realization dropping in for Valjean, but too late, as always.

"Antoine, I didn´t mean …" he started but got interrupted when one of their new business partners dragged him up. A quick cut with the knife and his ties were gone.

"All right." the right hand of their gang leader growled. "We´ll go together."

Valjean was startled, glancing at Javert, but the criminal denied instantly.

"Just the two of us. When we have the money we come back."

Again Valjean glanced at Javert, asking, and Javert raised his brows.

"I´m the hostage." he confirmed for him. And just to make sure Valjean understood the meaning of this, he added: "You better hurry."

**...**

Vidocq´s brows were raised, almost vanishing under his curls. "Did he really bring the money?" he asked, unable to hide how hard he found it to believe this part of the story.

Javert only gave him a face. "This is Valjean we´re talking about. Of course he did."

**...**

It took them one and a half hour, approximately. When Valjean and his guard finally returned, it was with bulging pockets.

"Any problems?" the leader of the gang asked his man.

"None. He got it from the bank. Simple as that."

"Let me see." he greedily took the stack of bills and instantly the five men stood huddled together, counting their easily earned money.

Valjean made his way over to Javert. "Are you all right?" he asked, helping him up. He didn´t seem concerned about acting against their incarcerators will, and untied him on his own authority.

"I´m touched by your concern." Javert growled. "But I can handle myself."

"I see how well you handle yourself." Valjean took his time to untie the kid as well.

"I´m not the idiot who pays some street rats in advance with such a fortune." Javert growled.

"It´s my money. Never mind that."

"You´re still an idiot."

"You only say that because you´re cheap."

This last remark was too unexpected and too sassy for Javert to handle. All he could do to properly react was stare, irritated beyond words. Valjean´s gaze was daring, mocking actually and Javert scowled at him in response.

"Go fuck yourself." he caught a glimpse of Valjean´s wide grin just before he turned his back on him, and walked straight over to those criminals. They were still busy celebrating over their new fortune.

"You believe us now?" Javert asked and when the leader turned to him, he snatched the bigger stack of the bills away from him. "If you mind … we´ll still need that to pay the deliverer."

It was mostly his bad mood making him act so risky, but obviously it did its work. The men accepted his demeanor without objections. A grim nod from their leader was the only reaction he got.

"Great." he packed the money into his breast pocket. He just didn´t want to see this ridiculous bribe anymore. "So can I see the woman now?" he asked, impatiently. "Because I´m fed up with this game of waiting. Where is she?"

The leader glanced at his right hand, pointing with his head. "Show him." he ordered. Nothing more. And just as silent, as the order had been, it was taken to action.

Javert felt like in the old days, when he´d walked to the prison cells. Because whatever this chamber had once been, long ago, now it was exactly that. A cell, holding the hostage, the wife of the murdered wainwright.

Javert did not know what he expected to see, when the door got opened for him. But he surely was not prepared for _that_ sight.

The girl lay on the ground, on a ridiculously small bundle of hay. The only clean thing about her seemed to be the tiny silver necklace – a heart. Her dress was torn and when she heard the door, she instantly jumped up, retrieving into the farthest corner and huddled herself into a tight ball, like a scared animal. Javert could only stare at her. Her eyes met him, and all he saw was fear. Not of death though.

"What´s this?" he asked, not able to help himself. "What did you do to her?"

The only answer he got was a smug grin. And at this sight something inside him just snapped, broke the chains of his self control and allowed the beast to lunge forward. The guy grunted when he got pushed into the frame of the door.

"Did you rape her?" Javert hissed into his face. It wasn´t that he needed the answer, but he wanted to hear it from his own lips. He wanted the truth.

"The trade did not specify the condition in which she´s to be delivered." was the answer he got.

Javert felt the impulse coming before his fist shot forward. As if it had its own will, it began punching this bastard. Three times in a row, so quick, not even Javert himself knew how this could have happened so fast. The man dropped, out cold and only a second later, he saw Valjean blocking off another man that tried to attack him.

Javert heard the sound of a knife falling to the ground and he reacted on pure instinct. Something inside him had taken over, and this something was raging. The fight happened like in a daze. Later on, he would not be able to remember any details. All he knew was that he punched, and that he punched hard. He received some knocks too, but barely even noticed those. After a time that he would never be able to clearly define, the fight was over. The men had somehow ended up on the ground, groaning but not entirely defeated. Javert grabbed the leader, and picked up the knife Valjean had knocked out of the other man´s hand.

"Stay where you are." he rasped at them, holding the knife to their leader´s throat. "On your knees or he dies."

He wasn´t bluffing. If any of them had attempted to get up and attack again, he would have cut this man´s throat. In this moment, maybe the first time of his life, he was ready to take another man´s life, as if he had the right to do so.

Thanks God the criminals obeyed.

"Get her out." he told Valjean, and Valjean was panting, staring at him. He turned to the cell, ready to do what Javert had just said, but the kid was faster. He was in the cell before Valjean had even made his first uneven step. And that was probably a good thing. Considering what she must have been through, not even a saint like Valjean would be able to convince her, that he wasn´t just the next guy who´d come to have his share on her. Javert had to restrain himself from using the knife after all.

Somehow the boy managed it to get the woman off the ground and convince her to follow him. Her eyes were still haunted when they reached the door, flinching under Javert´s glare. She couldn´t know that the hate in his eyes was not meant for her.

"Shhhh." Valjean made, trying to calm her, but it only made her flinch away from him. Her hand went up, instinctively clutching the little heart that hung around her neck, as if it was a talisman. The only thing they hadn´t taken from her.

"Everything will be all right." Valjean tried to tell her, before giving it up. He turned to the boy: "Bring her to the fiacre."

As the two of them left, he glanced at Javert, and the former inspector could read in his eyes like in a book. _Well. That wasn´t the way I thought this would go. But I´ve got to give you that, inspector. You know how to surprise._

"Into the cell." Javert ordered the men on the ground. "Now!"

The criminals slowly got up, making their way into the cell. Each of them seemed to ask their leader silently for approval, and it was this bastard´s luck that he did not try to order them anything different. He probably knew that Javert would not let go of him, and that he still held his life in his hands.

Valjean took the doorhandle, expecting Javert to push the leader inside at last.

"Close the door." he ordered him instead.

Valjean frowned, but did as he said.

"Wait outside."

But this time Valjean objected. "Antoine."

Impatience got the better of him and Javert simply ignored his disobedient partner.

"Who gave you the order?" he asked his hostage. "Who´s paying you?"

"I don´t know any name." the man claimed and Javert increased the pressure with his knife. "I swear." the man cried, trying to back off from the blade. "The guy who payed us said he works for a group of people. Dangerous, powerful men. He made sure to tell us to better not mess up, that we´d regret it. But he´d pay well, if we´d do well. We only had to know the task, no names, he said. It´s the truth, come on."

Javert felt Valjean take a hesitant step closer, but so far he didn´t try to interfere. Not yet.

"So you don´t even know why you should take her." Javert summarized. It wasn´t really a question.

"We were supposed to take the man and his wife." the criminal told him. "But he struggled. Got himself killed."

"So you took the wife." Javert concluded. "Conveniently in both senses of the word."

This time the son of a bitch was smart enough not to give a response. But Javert did not need any more. He knew what he needed to know. He´d seen it when he´d opened the door.

His hand found a fast grip in this rapist´s hair, and the man glowered at him, as if he knew something that Javert couldn´t possibly know. And for a moment this gaze made Javert halt in his action.

"You have no idea who you´re up against." the rapist told him, almost laughing. "You think we´re bad? You ain´t seen nothing yet."

There was yet another emotion Javert could see in those eyes. The man foretold them danger, but he also knew that he would face one very distinct danger of his own. Maybe just as bad as the one he predicted for them. Maybe even worse.

Javert didn´t care. What he held in his hand just now was not worth any form of sympathy. He tightened the grip on this man´s hair and pushed, throwing his head into the wall. The criminal bounced off, groaning, but he wasn´t knocked out.

"You got lucky with this, you better believe that." Javert hissed into his ear.

And with that he finally pushed him towards the door. Valjean hurriedly opened it, to let them in, and Javert threw the man inside, literally. Valjean stepped back when he took the door from him, to close it himself, and after he´d turned the key, his hand suddenly seemed glued to the wood. As if he had to fear the whole tunnel would come down on their heads if he let go now. God, what had just happened here?

"Antoine?" The uncertainty in Valjean´s voice brought him back around, and Javert stepped back from the door, straightening his back.

"Is the girl in the carriage?"

"I guess so."

Javert simply nodded, strongly. "We should go." he decided, and after one last glance at the door, he made his way outside.

Of course he knew Valjean was still watching him closely, but he would not give him an explanation. Not when they left the tunnel, and not when they mounted the coach seat, driving off to get back to Paris.


	6. The Heat of the Moment

**The Heat of the Moment**

"Quite an adventure." Vidocq commented what he had heard so far. "I told you, you and Jean would be a good team."  
Javert only glared at the man, darkly, and even Vidocq noticed that something about what he´d said, had struck too close to home.

Eventually he took a step back. "Could she tell you anything?"

Javert felt a stitch of regret at the question. He closed his eyes, and instantly had to open them again, when an unwanted picture invaded his mind. A picture of something that was black, and broken. Javert took a breath, and willed the image away.

"No." he answered the question. "She couldn´t."

**...**

When they reached Rue du l´homme armee the day was turning dark. For a moment Javert did not want to move at all. He could still feel Valjean´s eyes on him, as if the old man was waiting for something.

"Help her inside." Javert told him, tired. Valjean kept looking at him. "Help _her_!" Javert ordered, and finally Valjean obeyed.

Javert stayed where he was, burying his face in his hand. He could hear Valjean softly talking, eventually leading the boy and the woman inside. He´d probably stopped at the door, one more time to glance back at him, Javert. Thanks God he didn´t try to come back and ask him to follow. He needed a moment. Just a few minutes to get himself back together.

The quiet sounds of the street in the distance made him dizzy, but breathing the cooling air of the evening helped. Dear Lord, what a day. And it wasn´t over yet. They had the girl but what now?

Eventually Javert got off the coach seat. He knocked on Valjean´s door – a familiar action by now – and when Valjean opened, he looked tensed. Not so loud, his posture screamed, but he didn´t say a word.

Javert stepped in, looking about for a moment. The kid was probably with the girl, to calm her down. But she was not the first thing on Javert´s mind. Another task had to be finished first. He spotted the notepad on Valjean´s bureau and began writing, instantly. A brief but detailed note. Those men would not stay locked up forever and he needed to know that someone would take care of them. He might not trust the police with his life, but he still trusted them to arrest some criminals if they were presented to them on a silver plate.

A second reason for his hurry in this matter was just as simple. Whoever had hired these men, would not wait for them forever. If they didn´t deliver the girl in time, they might come and look for them. And the way this raping bastard had talked of them, he was scared. Scared of the punishment they would face, should they learn that they had failed. In any case, Javert figured, they´d prefer getting arrested and brought to prison than to explain themselves to their so called bosses. These nameless powerful men.

When they boy came out of the bedroom, to ask for a glass of water for the lady, Javert handed him the letter.

"Bring that to the police station." he instructed him. "Don´t worry about her, Monsieur Fauchelevant will take good care of her. We both will. But these men have to be arrested."

At those last words the kid finally nodded, agreeing, and Javert mirrored the nod.

"If they ask you, it was a random man giving that to you."

Again the boy nodded. Javert found himself reaching into his pocket, to hand him a coin.

"Now go."

Javert did not look around, but he knew Valjean was looking at him, smiling.

"You learn after all." he heard him say, but didn´t give a response. Instead he asked him where he lent the fiacre.

The answer was simple, but it still sounded as if Valjean demanded something in response. Javert refused.

"I´ll return it." he went for the door, but Valjean would not let him go just that easily. A hand grabbed his arm, holding him back, and Javert opened his mouth, ready to protest. But instead of being rebuked or questioned, he suddenly felt Valjean´s hand in his own, placing something metallic there. When he looked down, he found that it was the key to the apartment door. The one with the ridiculous heart shape in it.

"You knock too loud." Valjean told him. "You´d startle her."

Javert stared at him for a moment, flinching inwardly, and glanced at the half open bedroom door. She was probably listening closely to every sound that came from outside this door, still scared that someone might come in to hurt her. He had seen victims like that – too many – and he knew how fragile they could be. Damaged forever.

"Try to ask her what she knows … if you can." he said, quietly, to Valjean. "You´re better at this than I am."

And with that he finally turned around and left.

**...**

He needed half an hour to return the fiacre to it´s owner and make his way back to the apartment. When he opened the door with the key, he did it carefully, and as quiet as possible. Valjean was sitting on the couch when he entered, hands folded, and a deep frown between his eyes. He glanced at him, in utter silence.

Javert locked the door. He did not expect a yes when he asked: "Could you talk to her?"

Valjean just shook his head. "She´s too scared. I´d rather let her rest … and talk to her in the morning. When it´s light."

Javert only nodded. It had been more hope than actual expectation to get anything from her right now. This girl was traumatized. Maybe they should ask Cosette to talk to her. Another girl might win her trust easier than two old men.

Valjean got up, heading for the window, as if he hoped to find any answers by looking out.

"I have been thinking, Antoine." he sighed. "Or tried to. These men we´re looking for … And this man that´s after me. … They´re not the same. Are they?" Before Javert could think of an answer, Valjean shook his head, as if answering himself. "He doesn´t belong to them."

It wasn´t really a question anymore.

Javert stepped to his side. "No." he affirmed. "I don´t think he does."

"Then who is he?" It was evident that Valjean had reached a point of confused desperation. "What does he want?" he asked as if Javert could tell him, just like that. "And why now? Not earlier? Much earlier?"

"Do you have any enemies that could hold a grudge?" Javert tried to narrow down the list from every human being on this earth. "Anyone you aggravated with something?"

But Valjean was shaking his head, vehemently. "Never. I never hurt anyone."

Javert couldn´t help himself. He raised his brows. "You were at the barricades." he mentioned but Valjean instantly objected.

"I never shot any gun. Except … " he gestured but it wasn´t necessary to speak it out. Again he shook his head. "I didn´t hurt anyone there. And even if I had … none of them would have known my name. Not even those boys knew my name. They never even asked me." Javert frowned, and Valjean shrugged. "I saved their leader´s life. That proved which side I was on."

Javert nodded, recalling that fateful night in both of their lives.

"You do realize that this marksman could have ended the battle with much less loss of lives, had he hit his target." he mentioned, causing a dumbstruck gape from the other man. And it was this gaze, that brought the realization after all. It was that gaze, that made Javert lower his eyes, apologetically. "I don´t know why I said that."

Valjean only nodded, bitterly. "I do." he said. "The same reason why I keep saying those things that hurt you. Because we just can´t help ourselves." He nodded again at Javert´s reaction. "Apology accepted."

Javert forced himself to keep his mouth shut and not mention the fact that technically he hadn´t even apologized. But maybe Valjean didn´t need him to say it. He never seemed to need him to say anything.

The old con sighed, exasperated. The frown was still between his eyes, but by now it looked more worn than worried. He made his way back to the couch and sat down, slumping into the cushions, frustrated, hands covering his mouth like he was praying. And there he stayed, staring into the distance of his own troubled mind. Hoping, praying for an answer.

Javert sat down beside him, not much better off. This sure was not how he had imagined their first assignment to go down. Not at all.

"Maybe I was wrong after all." Valjean spoke after a while. And Javert woke up from his own thoughts.

"About what?" he asked, leaning back tiredly.

"Us. Me. About having a chance. To make up for all our deeds. Maybe we never really had a chance. Maybe this is the punishment at last. Finally catching up with us. With me."

Javert stared at this man beside him, totally unable to understand him. "What have you ever done to deserve punishment like that?" he asked, but Valjean shook his head.

"You think you know everything about my case?" he asked.

"What do you think you know about mine?" Javert shot right back.

Valjean glanced at him, and for a moment there was nothing left to say. Javert looked away first, but he was not done talking.

"Don´t be an idiot and believe this was some sort of Godly punishment. It´s not. It´s a normal human being of flesh and blood. And we´ll find him." Again he met Valjean´s gaze, not much more hopeful yet, but less desperate at least. "I always find my men." he told him, and at last something softened in the old man´s eyes. He nodded, accepting the unspoken promise, and leaned back with a weary sigh.

"I just can´t stop thinking of Cosette. He could have killed her that night. What if he comes back?" he closed his eyes, as if in pain. "He _will_ come back. I just know it."

Javert leaned back as well, letting his eyes hover under the ceiling. "When he does, we´ll be ready." he promised.

"Will we?" Valjean turned his head, to glance at him, and Javert answered the gaze, straight on. He felt uncomfortable, but a well meant lie was the only answer he could – should – give right now.

"We will." he said. But he could see in Valjean´s eyes that he knew it was a lie.

**...**

He woke up to the sound of shattering glass, totally disorientated. What had just happened? And where the hell was he?

Beside him he heard a gasp, and someone flinched, startled. A frantic hand hit him just under the chin, before the owner had himself under control again.

Valjean. God, had they seriously fallen asleep on this stupid couch like some idiots? Considering how his neck protested against being craned back for so long, they probably had.

"Antoine!"

The cry was alarmed, and at last Javert was wide awake. The shine of fire had increased quickly these last two seconds, and now that he was focused, he saw the burning curtains.

He was on his feet instantly, but not as fast as Valjean. The curtains got torn down and Valjean began stumping on it, trying to smother the flames. Javert had a moment to notice the hole in the glass of the window. Too small for a stone – who could have hit this window with a stone anyway? From the street?This was the third floor. So there was only one thing that could have produced a hole like that.

He glanced out and saw a person in the street, aiming the gun again, and threw himself at Valjean, just in time to push him out of the line of fire. The bullet ended up in the ceiling, and the two of them in the shadow of the window.

Javert glanced out, trying to see something, anything with the blue vision still blinding his nightsight.

"Did you see him?" Valjean breathed beside him, and that was the moment when he indeed _did_ see him. A dark figure, hooded, standing right there in the middle of the street. Still, as if waiting for a sign that his assassination had been successful. Son of a bitch.

"What happened?" Valjean was still panting after this fright.

And all Javert could think was: "We can get him."

He was at the door, before Valjean even had a chance to follow. He turned the key almost violently, before tearing the door open. All his focus was on getting down the stairs, and out to catch this bastard of an arsonist.

He heard Valjean call after him, approximately one flight of stairs behind, but he could not afford to waste time. The assassin could be gone any second.

He reached the street … and it was empty. Just as he was about to curse out loud, he spotted him though. Right at the corner, glancing back. As their gazes met – the assassin´s hidden under the hood – the man bolted. And so did Javert. Not again. He would not get away again, to maybe come back and try this again. Shooting burning objects with a musket to set an apartment on fire … that was professional. And it was personal. Valjean had been right. This man would not stop until he´d had him killed. This had to end tonight. And it _would_ end tonight.

He sped up again, and reached a crossroad. Empty. Dammit.

But then he saw him again, just vanishing around a corner, circa two hundred feet down the left street. And Javert ran. It took him maybe three more corners, until he finally realized that this man was purposefully allowing him to stay on his tail. But obviously he´d had enough now, because at some point Javert did not see him anymore, no matter where he looked. The arsonist was gone at last. After he had decoyed him through the streets as if intending to lure him into a trap. But there was no trap here. So why the hell …?

And that was the moment Javert saw the smoke, rising over the roofs of the city. And there was only one building he could think of, that could be the source of that.

"No."

He began running again, back, only back there. What had he done?

It came back to him, that he´d smelled smoke on his way down the stairs. But he´d considered it the remains of the burning curtain. His own senses tricking him. And he´d been so focused on catching this arsonist.

Valjean. Valjean had called after him. He must have known. He must have seen what he, Javert, had overlooked. But now it was clear to him. The whole house had been on fire. The curtains had only been … what? The icing on the cake? A diversion? What?

It didn´t matter. All that mattered was to get back there. Just back.

**...**

Vidocq leaned forward, catching up with the truth Javert had kept to himself until now. A truth the former inspector himself only now began to understand and accept as being in fact … true.

"Javert." Vidcoq asked, urging, barely able to help himself. "Where is Valjean? You said …" but he already guessed it. Of course he did. "Where is he?"

**...**

When he reached the Rue du l´homme armee again, he froze dead in his tracks. The house was blazing. Every window was spitting either flames or thick smoke. And just then the roof gave in, crushing down into the house. The people in the street, those who´d made it out before it was too late, cried out, and quickly skipped back. Javert could hear shouts, names and crying. Some people held back their friends and neighbors, to keep them from running back inside, to save their loved ones.

Javert scanned the crowd, looking for Valjean. He wasn´t there. He wasn´t among them.

"Valjean!" he called, but thought better of it, considering the crowd. "Jean!"

He got no reaction, only some glances. No Valjean.

"Jean!" he ran towards the crowd. "JEAN!"

He got no answer. He couldn´t see him. The fire. No. This was impossible.

"Hey." he addressed a man staring into the flames. "There´s a man living here. Old, gray hair. Fauchelevant. Did you see him?"

"He woke me." the man answered, voice shaking. "Knocked on my door, said to get out. The fire …"

"Where is he?" Javert grabbed the man. "Where?"

The man only looked back at the house. "He ran back up. A girl had screamed and he …"

Javert felt how his fingers lost their strength, and swirled around towards the house. Towards the fire.

"I didn´t see him come out." the man behind him was crying.

No. This couldn´t be. The girl. Valjean.

Javert began to move before he even knew it. Towards the house. But someone held him back.

"No." a voice cried into his ear. "It´s too late."

"Let me go." Javert fought those hands. "I´m an inspector."

A wagon raced into the street, heavy, loaded with pumps and men in fireward uniforms. The hands holding Javert dragged faster, pulling him away – there were two of them now – and one of the firewards blocked the crowd with a simple gesture while the others prepared the pumps, as quickly as possible.

"Please, sir, I need you to stay back." he told him, but of course Javert would not comply.

"Let me pass." he kept struggling.

"You can´t go there."

"My friend´s in there!"

The fireward grabbed his collar, uncompromising. "If he´s in there, he is dead." he told him, brutally and honest. "You can´t help him if you die too."

But of course Javert kept fighting. This idiot would not get himself killed on his watch. Not like this. Not after all those years. Not …

But the flames were too hot, even from where he stood. This fireward was right. No one in there could possibly be alive anymore.

"Be reasonable, man." he heard someone tell him. "You can´t help ´em anymore. They´re dead."

"No." he barely heard his own voice, over the noise of the fire, but the words in his ear were loud as thunder.

"Everyone in there is dead."

From somewhere he could hear a woman crying, shouting and shaking in her pain, held by another: "Claude! Nohohohooooo."

A man, older than Javert, was holding back his friend, just like these men were holding him back. "She´s only ten." the man shouted, already breaking down in tears. "I can´t let her …" but the rest Javert didn´t understand. He didn´t need to. It was clear what the man had said. He saw him break down, held by his friend who tried to comfort where no comfort would ever be enough.

And at last Javert felt his strength abandon him. He slacked down, and the only reason why he didn´t fall to the ground were the hands still holding him. Whoever it was guided him to the wall, and helped him to lean on it, while on the other side of the street the fire kept burning. Slowly it was taking over other buildings, and soon the firewards would send away the people standing about. Further away from the fire, to safety.

Javert moved with the crowd, numbly. All he could see was the fire, his eyes still searching the street for a sign, that maybe Valjean had made it out of there after all. Of course he had. There was no way he was in there. This was Valjean. He didn´t just die. Not like this. He had to be somewhere around here. Maybe unconscious because of the smoke he´d breathed in before he got out. But out he did get. Of course he did.

But he didn´t see him. Valjean didn´t stumble down the street at last, clothes black from the fire, coughing like an old man. He didn´t turn up from a corner, like he seemed to prefer it. He didn´t lie in an alley somewhere around the neighborhood. After a while Javert simply ran out of ideas where to look. Except for that building.

It took the firewards the whole night to contain the fire. Somehow they managed it to keep it from burning the whole quarter. The street got lost though. And when the sun was rising there were too many crying people to be counted. They cried for their lost homes, their burned property, their loved ones.

Javert only heard them as background noise. Until eventually they grew quieter and quieter. He watched the firewards, exhausted from the fight against the flames. He spared only the smallest thought admiring their stamina, that even after this night, they still worked on getting into the remains of this building. Who did they expect to still find there? Nothing was left of it but some coal-black beams, still hot to the touch.

They surely wouldn´t find anyone in there. Especially not Valjean. Because Valjean was not in there.

But he had looked everywhere. If he got out, where was he? He would have been around here someplace, but he hadn´t found him. He simply hadn´t found him. Anywhere.

But he couldn´t be in there either. He simply couldn´t. Maybe he hadn´t found him because it had been dark. Maybe he should look again now that it was brighter. The old man probably lay in a corner, unconscious. He would be freezing by now, and probably feel every muscle in his body when he woke up. But he´d live. Of course he would.

And that was the moment, when Javert heard one of the firewards call for a stretcher.

"We have bodies." he made out some words, and his feet started to move all on their own.

He could see them carry out something that barely resembled a human being anymore, and one of the firewards, a boy of maybe seventeen, not more, stepped into his way.

"Sir, you really shouldn´t …"

"I need to see." was all Javert brought out.

He didn´t even look at the boy. All he could see was the figure on that stretcher. Once, before the fire, it had been a woman, he could see that. But only because the chest was bulked upwards, as if the poor thing had tried to scream up to heaven, even in her last agonizing moments. There was a tiny necklace shimmering on her collar bone. A small heart. He recognized it instantly. He´d seen it around their victim´s neck.

His eyes darted over to the next body that got carried out. A male one this time. Slim figure once in his life, and what was left of his hair had been curly once. Curly and gray.

No. Impossible. This couldn´t be him. It had to be someone else. Another man that only had similar shape and size.

"Sir." the young fireman addressed him again, and his voice wasn´t steady either.

Javert fought off his already cautious hands, and stepped closer to the others, as they sat down the body.

He felt their eyes on him, but none of them said a word. Not anymore.

Javert didn´t care what they thought. He needed to know. For sure.

The clothes were burned off, just like most of the flesh. What was left of the body was barely human anymore. The face. Oh God the face. The mouth was open like in a silent scream, and Javert could see the teeth. All of them back to the jawbone.

He closed his eyes, turning away with a shudder. Impossible. Impossible. It was another man. It had to be.

He forced himself to open his eyes again, and as if something had wanted it, his gaze instantly fell on the hand of the crippled thing before him. There, clutched by five black claws, as if it had been molten into the bones, lay Valjean´s key.

**...**

Vidocq stared at him, quiet, and totally pale, for the first time, since he´d started to tell his story. Javert would have laughed if he´d still been capable of such an impulse.

"He´s dead?" the burly spy finally managed to ask. "Jean …?"

Javert only lowered his gaze. He didn´t need to speak out the answer.  
Vidocq slumped down into himself. "Dear God." His eyes found Javert again, and the disbelieve was written all over his face. "Are you sure? There´s no mistake possible? I mean …"

"Believe me." Javert spoke, his voice hoarse. "I wish it was." But he shook his head at the possibility. A possibility – a hope – he´d clung to way too long. At some point a man just had to accept the truth, no matter how hard and painful it was. "He was a thorn in the side …" he stated, his voice almost abandoning him. "But he was the thorn in _my _side." he needed to take a breath before he could speak out the last truth. "It _was_ him."

Vidocq looked down and made a cross before his face. "The world has lost a great man." he spoke. "I´m so sorry, Antoine."

Javert glanced up, sparked with deep anger all the sudden. "Don´t you ever dare, calling me by my first name. Ever."

The other man did not flinch, only nodded, understandingly, before shaking his head again, in sympathy, disbelieve, regret, all at once.

"I always thought he´d live forever."

Javert inhaled at those words, trying to control himself. "Me too." He looked up, straightening in his seat.

On the other side of the table Vidocq seemed to shift, uncomfortable. "I hate to ask you this … but is there any chance to keep investigating the case I assigned you to? To find those men I asked you to find? It´s a very important case."

Javert glared up at him. He just couldn´t believe it. "The witness is dead. _Valjean_ is dead. There is no case anymore."

"These men are still out there."

"So is the man who killed Valjean. And I want him to pay."

Vidocq nodded, understanding, but he would not drop this so easily. "There are still those men you got arrested. The smugglers. They might be a lead, still."

"If you want to question them for what little they know, go ahead. I won´t stop you. Tell me what you got afterward. I for my part intent to find Valjean´s killer."

Facing Javert´s stern expression, Vidocq simply gave up, sighing deeply.

"And do you have any idea where to find this man?" he asked, clearly not expecting to hear a yes. The more did it surprise him, when he actually heard just that.

The spy raised his brows, astounded. "Where?"

"This is the point where I need your help." Javert said, feeling his energy return now that he finally was at the point he´d wanted to get to. "Because there´s yet another man, who knew Valjean´s real name."


	7. Dead

**Dead**

Javert knew it wasn´t Thénardier. Cosette knew him, and would have recognized him if he´d been the one threatening them that night. All right, he´d worn a mask, but Javert was still sure that either her or her boyfriend would have recognized the voice. And recalling the figure he´d chased through the streets – he should have stayed with Valjean, he should have known it was a trick – he could tell that the man he was looking for was too small to be Thénardier. But the old pocket thief knew Valjean. He goddamn knew him.

Javert found him at his preferred place. The corner of the street where he used to hang around with his gang, waiting for unsuspecting pedestrians, to either beg alms from them or simply empty their pockets. There were things in this world that never changed. And this maggot was one of them.

Javert marched towards him, straight on. The old thief was surrounded by his pals, idly standing or sitting about, as if they had nothing to do at all with what this man was doing. Inbetween all this bustle in the street they barely stood out. It was a mess. But today this mess could only aid Javert.

Thénardier turned around, noticing this man that approached him so quickly, and Javert sped up, grabbing his collar before he had a chance to react. All around them, his men flinched into action, but so did Vidocq´s men. For each of Thénardier´s criminals, there was one pedestrian, that suddenly moved very quick and very professional, grabbing those men and dragging them behind the curtain that had been meant to shield Thénardier´s deeds. Now it would shield how they got detained, while Javert had a chat with their boss.

He dragged the gaping Thénardier behind the column, and pushed him against the wall.

"Inspector." this piece of scum addressed him with a smile. "To what do I owe the honor?" And as if he just spotted the scratch on Javert´s cheek, he hissed in sympathy. "What happened to your face?"

Javert pushed against the filthy throat. "Don´t you dare to mock me, maggot." he hissed. "I have exactly three questions for you, and you better don´t try lying to me. If you try … there will be pain. You got this?"

"Completely."

"First question: You _do_ know why I´m here, don´t you?" When Thénardier seemed to honestly think, Javert added, just to make sure: "You know whose house burned down in this fire, don´t you?"

"I seem to get your drift now." the criminal smirked, but stopped at Javert´s warning push. "I heard about it. That it was the house of my old friend. A certain … ex con." he seemed to watch Javert for his reaction, but Javert would not give him any. So Thénardier went on. "Yes, I know of this. Wasn´t sure though if he made it out of there." His eyes jumped around for a moment, and he smirked again. "Since I don´t see him anywhere … I guess I have my answer."

Javert pushed again, choking this son of a bitch.

"What do you want to hear from me?" Thénardier croaked.

"The truth. You knew Valjean. I want to know who else knew. Who did you tell?"

"Who did I tell? No one. Why should I give up information I wouldn´t get payed for?"

"Maybe someone _did_ pay you. Did they? Remember my conditions regarding lies."

"I assure you, inspector … Oh, I´m sorry. I forgot the title doesn´t apply anymore. But I assure you, I didn´t tell anyone. And neither did any of my men, as far as I know."

"As far as you know?"

"I could find out. If you ask me nicely. Which is, I guess, what you´re doing right now."

When Javert didn´t answer, the smug criminal smiled. "It would be a pleasure, working for you, inspector."

Javert grabbed him tighter, yet again. "I´m not an inspector anymore." he recalled. "Just as you stated earlier. And I´m not bound to the law any longer. Which means you better not try to mess with me. Believe me … you don´t want me as an enemy."

"Certainly not." Thénardier returned to his very cautious self. "I value our friendship way too much for that."

"We´re not friends." Javert growled. "Here´s my last question. I want to know who set the fires. I want his name, and where I can find him." He released the criminal. "Bring me these information and I´ll pay you. Other than that, I want nothing from you. But I will find you, no matter where you hide. So don´t you try to run. "

Thénardier answered with a respectful bow. "I will see to serve you well, ins … monsieur."

Javert was fuming. Deep inside him there was a boiling anger, one that would break lose if he didn´t watch out. So he simply turned around, giving Jacques a signal, to let his men release the pathetic gang.

"Oh yeah …" Thénardier spoke up as if he´d just thought of one more thing, and Javert halted, glancing over his shoulder. Thénardier smiled, before his face turned into a ridiculous mask of pity. "I´m very sorry for your loss."

**...**

It had taken Javert almost forever to finally summon the courage to mount the way to the front door. Too many times had he halted, stopping himself with the pathetic try to convince himself that this wasn´t necessary. That he didn´t have proof. That the body he´d seen could have been a random person after all, only looking like Valjean. The key could be coincidence. Maybe someone had had a similar corny heart shape carved into the damn thing, as a sweet present for his daughter …

It was too much. Too much coincidence. Who was he trying to fool? The cold and merciless truth was as simple as that. The great and holy Jean Valjean had finally stopped running. In the end even he´d been too slow, had dodged only one second too late in order to get away just in time, had been too unsuspecting to imagine that someone could be ruthless enough to kill others – innocents – along with him, only because they happened to be in the way.

Javert had known, the moment he´d seen the face of this burned creature before him, long before he´d spotted the key. He had known that in the end, it had not been _him_, who had caught up with Valjean, the infinite fugitive. And that this time he´d vanished to a place, where he couldn´t follow him. Not if he actually ever wanted to find him.

But would he ever? He still wasn´t convinced to have earned his place there. If he ever even had a chance for that, it would have been because of Valjean. But now … now even that was gone. Every chance of redemption, so it ever existed. Gone. Just like him. Valjean.

Javert had never been a man to visit church, aside from the duty of attempting the mass. But this had been just that. Duty. Actually going to this place, for contemplation, or a talk with God, as Valjean had liked to call it … he´d never understood. And neither did he understand why now from all the times in the world, he felt drawn inside a church. The only thing he knew was that a voice was calling him.

Valjean?

He doubted that. The dead couldn´t speak anymore. And maybe it was good that way. The living had spoken loud enough.

Javert closed his eyes, hiding in the shadow of the side aisle. Staying in the light had felt like intruding, so he´d made his way into the dark. Like a man guilty of the worst crime. But wasn´t that exactly what he was? In some way he was.

Again and again he saw himself walking up to the front door, knocking with a shaking hand. The things he´d said were a blur to him, the words he´d forced out of his mouth, to deliver the message of Valjean´s demise. It didn´t matter. Nothing of what he´d said mattered. There had never been a chance for him to say it the right way.

He recalled the slap. The first. The second. The third. Until Marius had stopped her. And her shouts at him, the accusations, the curses she had poured over him and his soul, for all eternity. And maybe she was right. Maybe he would burn in hell. But not before he was done here on earth.

"It goes without saying that you´re not welcome here anymore, monsieur." Marius had said instead of a goodbye, when he had shown him out. Not even his apologetic gaze could change the meaning of his words.

Yes. It wasn´t necessary to tell him that. He had caused the death of Cosette´s father. He was the last person on earth she´d ever want to see again. And could he blame her? He´d never had any right or place to be part of this life anyway.

His legs were shaking so he sat down, on the farthest spot of the bench. Just like all the other prayers in this house of God. But God was not there for him. He wouldn´t be, even if he´d call for him, now or ever. And all the sudden Javert was scared. So deeply scared like never before in his life. As if judgment day might come for him, right here and now. Any second. To burn him to ashes the way Valjean had been burned.

His hand grabbed the wood before him, as if he could keep himself from falling, and all he could do was stare, his vision blurring, his breath hurting in his chest and throat. Maybe he would just suffocate, and drop dead, right here, in this very church. God´s punishment in its most direct form.

But he didn´t die. He didn´t suffocate. And he didn´t burst into flames, like the falling angel that had always been meant to live in hell. All he did was sitting there, and after a while his breath evened, slowed down, and the spinning of his head got better. Something wrapped itself around his mind, a numbness, as if he were falling asleep. But it was far from peaceful. How? How could all this happen in such a short time?

"I´ll find him." he heard himself say, quietly, but somehow his own voice felt like something alien. As if some higher power made him say those words aloud. "I´ll find the man who did this." Javert looked up, where exactly he didn´t know.

The ceiling was high, and full of artistic details, simple but beautiful to eyes who knew to appreciate it. The curved dome lay in shadows, but somehow this darkness up there gave Javert a feeling of depth. As if he could see beyond all this. The way Valjean must have been able to see it.

"I´ll find him." he repeated, more secure now. "I swear." and as if he needed to explain himself: "I have to. Because if I do … if I stop him and keep him from harming any other person, including your daughter … then maybe you can forgive me."

**...**

The daylight was darkening when he finally walked home, like a sleepwalker wandering the earth. He was only half aware of his surroundings. There was a tiredness that had taken over his mind and body, and when he passed a bridge, he couldn´t help but stopped, and looked onto the water, numb and almost sad that considering _this_ was not even an option anymore. Not as long as his task wasn´t fulfilled. Not as long as this bastard was still out there.

Valjean had left behind a hollow world. Unbelievable that he would ever think that about a man he had considered a criminal, for so long. And now … Javert was left behind, to stay alive, carrying his guilt and shame, knowing that it had been _him_ in all those years who´d done wrong, not Valjean.

_Stop pitying yourself, Antoine, _a voice spoke in his head and for a moment Javert was scared.

He turned around, but no one was there. The street was abandoned except for him. And yet when he turned back to the parapet, the voice was there again. Valjean was there again. Like a ghost that would haunt him until he got reasonable again. Just like he´d done it in life.

_Self-pity will not solve this case, _he told him._ You know that, inspector. Giving up is not like you. This is not the man I knew. Come on now. There´s still work to do. _

Yes, Javert admitted tiredly. Valjean was right, had always been right. He should focus.

_Watch out!_

The sound of running steps approaching fast made him flinch and swirl around. He didn´t see the runner, but he heard the person changed direction and the steps retrieved. Javert instantly gave chase.

He reached the corner and ahead he saw the fugitive dart into an alley, the place where all the criminals would try to hide. But this time he was faster. He dodged the corner, and his runner had ended up before a wall. A dead end.

Only it wasn´t a grown man, as Javert had expected – not his murdering arsonist. It was a boy, of maybe twelve years. _The_ boy.

"You." he breathed. "What are you doing here? Were you following me?"

"No, monsieur." the kid seemed scared, and out of breath just as well.

"Were you running away from _me_?"

Again the kid shook his head. "No." But then he reconsidered. "Yes." he admitted, and Javert regarded him, frowning deeply.

"Why?"

"I heard what happened to monsieur Valjean." the kid then blurred, as if this would make any difference at all. And Javert frowned.

"He never introduced himself to you by that name." he stepped closer. "How do you know it?"

"You called him that." the boy skipped back. "When you thought I didn´t hear you. But I did."

Javert was shocked, instantly trying to think back if he said the name in public once. Ever. Was it his fault? Did he give him away?

"I wish …" the boy started. "I could do something. I …" but he didn´t know how to go on. He simply looked at Javert, like a grown man would look at a sad child. A gaze that wanted to council, to comfort, and just didn´t know how.

"There´s nothing you could have done." Javert informed him, trying to be brusk about it. "And there is nothing you could do now. Go home. And forget you ever met us. It´s better this way."

He didn´t wait for the boy to answer anymore, but turned around and left the allay.

"Are you not afraid they could come for you next?" the kid cried after him, and Javert stopped, shocked, but only for a moment.

"I hope they will." was all he said, and not even this sassy kid knew anymore how to respond.

Javert went home, and waited, the entire night. But no one came for him.

**...**

His walk was stiff the next morning. But his will kept him going. He needed to move on. He needed to know. And he needed to act.

Thénardier did not react quite as startled as the day before, but it was satisfying that he still flinched, at Javert´s sight, even if it was only a little. Javert reached out a hand, pushing with his fingertips only, but it was enough to make Thénardier withdraw, almost as if he really got pushed.

"Inspector." he smiled, nervously. "I didn´t expect you back so soon."

"What do you have for me?"

"You look tired."

"What do you have?"

"What I don´t seem to have is a lot of time. You only asked me for my help yesterday. That´s not much time to gather information."

Javert grabbed the wriggling worm by his collar. "I take whatever you´ve got." he hissed. "So what is it?"

The dirty thief craned back his neck as far as he could, as if afraid Javert might try to actually bite in his anger. "I´m afraid I know where your killer learned Valjean´s name." he admitted.

Javert only looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"One of my guys was in a need for money." he finally did. "And he sold what he had. Information."

Javert grabbed the criminal tighter. "To whom?"

"He said the person wore a hood and didn´t tell him a name."

"Which of your men was it?"

"I don´t see that this would make a difference."

"Which of your men was it?"

"I´m afraid I can´t tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you´d probably strangle the poor fella. And no good would come of this. He only did what he thought best to survive."

"By selling another man´s life to the first bidder?"

"A criminal´s life." Thénardier obviously thought it wise to insult Javert´s perception of the man in question. "The life of a fugitive. I don´t understand in any case why you put so much effort into this." he let him know. "You wanted the man behind bars for so long. He´s gone now. And you´re not police anymore. So why the fuss?"

Before he had the time to consciously decide upon his reaction, Javert pushed, hard enough to force the air out of Thénardier´s lungs.

"He was my friend." he hissed but didn´t get another response. Only this slimy grin of the man, as if he truly understood anything. Eventually Javert let go of Thénardier. He was done here.

"Oh, before I forget it." the thief spoke just as he was about to leave. "I still have something else. Something I happened to come across by coincidence. It might interest you."

Javert stopped, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn´t sure if he wanted to be interested.

"What?"

"It concerns a man you recently brought behind bars." Thénardier started. "A man named … Lecomte?"

Javert turned back. "What about him?" his mind was already racing, chasing all the possibilities. Did he escape? Did he somehow hire someone to kill Valjean? Was _he_ …?

"He´s dead, is what I heard." Thénardier interrupted his train of thoughts. "Killed by another inmate. Only yesterday."

Javert´s stare of total shock seemed to immensely satisfy Thénardier.

"I figured it quite a coincidence." he spoke. "That this happened … now. Wouldn´t you agree?"

**...**

"It´s true." Vidocq solemnly closed the door Javert had left open after storming into the office. "I heard it just before you came in." With a gesture of his head he pointed at Jacques, who´d idly stood by when Javert had almost broken the door.

The former inspector shook his head. "That´s impossible." Lecomte dead. Just like that. It _was_ impossible.

"Why?" Vidocq asked, serious. "Because it was Lecomte?"

"I know how that feels." Jacques now finally stepped forward. His tone was neutral, almost as if he wasn´t even involved in any of this. "It´s unreal." he said. "It comes from out of nowhere and you weren´t there. It feels like a lie, made up to taunt you. But I assure you, it is real."

Javert fixed his eyes on those of this man. This spy. The former criminal, once convicted for crimes Javert didn´t even know. For all he knew it could have been murder. Or simply stealing nothing but a loaf of bread.

"How do you know?" he asked him, but it was Vidocq not the stoic Jacques who answered him.

"Who do you think brought me the news?"

Javert would not face away from Jacques for long. "But how do you know?" he repeated his question.

"I know it from a man who was there." Jacques told him. "He saw the body. It was Lecomte."

"Who is this man?"

"A guard."

Jacques´ tone was defiant when he revealed this information, almost as if he knew how Javert would react. As if he´d expected to see this blank face now, of disbelieve.

"You have contacts to a prison guard." the former police man, once prison guard himself, spoke. And he didn´t have to form the words: Are you kidding me? Jacques heard it anyway.

"Yes." the inscrutable spy affirmed, and on the other side of the small office, Vidocq smiled.

"Sounds crazy, right? A former criminal befriending a prison guard."

Seeing this mocking smirk, Javert could not help himself. He turned away from Jacques and warningly walked in on Vidocq.

"He is dead, Vidocq." he growled. "So do me a favor and knock off those silly jokes of yours. Could you?"

The burly spy did not cower before Javert´s anger, but the smile in his face faded and he lowered his eyes, ashamed. "I´m sorry." he said. "You´re right."

Before the idiot could say any more, Javert turned back to Jacques.

"What did this man say?" he demanded more information, but his brief intimidation of Vidocq was forgotten the next moment.

"I´m very sorry, but I must insist that we direct our attention to something else, inspector." Vidocq spoke loud and demanding, phrasing every syllable carefully as if afraid Javert might not understand him otherwise. "Because there is something else you should know, Javert. About the case I initially gave you."

Javert turned back to him, fuming. "You didn´t give me anything." he roared, walking in on the smaller man, yet again. "You´d do good not to forget that."

"I fact." Vidocq spoke, not wavering at all under Javert´s stare. "I _did_. And you´d do good, not to forget _that_!"

"I´m not working for you!" Javert was almost ready to smash something, right into Vidocq´s face.

But the burly spy remained adamant. "Jean did."

That was all he said, and it was all it needed, and Javert´s anger was fended. For a moment he´d been close to snap. And now, all the sudden, it decreased, quickly, one last wave of heat washing over his body, only to leave him in a cold wake.

"What is this other information?" he asked, and Vidocq cocked his head, approving yet chiding in one glance.

"It´s about those men you locked up in the woods. Those you ordered your former colleagues to arrest."

"The kidnappers. What about them?"

"They´re dead." Vidocq revealed, straight faced. "All of them."

Javert felt as if someone had kicked his legs away from underneath him. What?

"Whoever hired them to bring them this witness, must have been really disappointed when they couldn´t finish the task." Vidocq simply stated. "So now, Javert. What do you think? Is this case truly dead, the way you said it, or would you rather advise us to keep investigating?"

Javert tried to think. And found he couldn´t. All his rationality had abandoned him, and now all he could do was stare, and hope for the right choice to come to him.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"On their way to prison." Vidocq answered, and Jacques took over to explain the rest.

"Someone attacked the carriage that transported them. Apparently no one was left alive. Neither guards nor prisoners. The carriage was found just outside of Paris. On the road to Bicêtre."

Javert frowned, catching up with a small but crucial detail. "You say apparently."

"There is no reason to believe anyone was spared. The place was covered in blood."

"What about the bodies?"

"There were no bodies. Just blood. A _lot_ of blood."

Javert closed his eyes, trying to will the image away. Unsuccessfully.

"I think it goes without saying, that the man you questioned the other day, was right." Vidocq spoke. "These men are very powerful, and very dangerous."

"What do you expect of me now?" Javert was left without strength. "There´s hardly anything I can do."

"I wanted you to be aware of those facts. These men are still out there. It could have been them who killed Jean. And if any of those criminals you encountered told them about you, you might be in danger as well."

Javert thought about this possibility for a moment, and found that it didn´t worry him too much. "I guess that is something I can handle." he said, and before Vidocq could speak up again: "After all. If _they_ come for_ me_, I won´t have to worry about looking for _them_." When Vidocq closed his mouth, outsmarted at least for the moment, Javert turned back to Jacques. "And now." he said. "I want to know what your friend the prison guard said about Lecomte´s death."

**...**

It was a pain to wait until the end of the day, but there was simply no other way. The young officer would not get home before his shift was over and this way at least Javert wouldn´t have to hide out there in the streets.

He paced quietly about the place, idly inspecting the spare belongings of the man he was waiting for. It wasn´t much. A few small books seemed to be the only things that were not dedicated to the man´s duties. Something Javert could relate to – except for the reading. But Billinger seemed indeed to be a promising officer. Much better than those Javert had been forced to encounter lately. Somehow this knowledge reassured him, just a tiny bit, that something like honor could still exist in this world.

He tried to recall, once again, what Jacques had told him about Lecomte´s case. Every detail could be of importance.

"_My contact said the man who did it, had a visitor, the day before the attack. He never had any problems with Lecomte before, never even seemed to care about him. And then … all the sudden … he grabs him from behind and snaps his neck? My contact also told me, they charged him with murder. Death penalty. He didn´t react at all. As if the charges didn´t concern him. If you get my meaning."_

"_They´re going to break him out."  
_

_"Seems that was the deal."_

"_If they really do it. What if they don´t? They could just let him rot and wait until he´s executed. No witness."_

"_He wouldn´t have risked the death penalty, for someone he didn´t trust to keep his word. No one would do that."_

"_He knows the killer."_

"_I believe if you could get this man to tell you the name, you might be able to find your arsonist. The man that killed your friend."_

And that had been the moment when Vidocq had skipped in again, objecting of course.

"_They will never let him in, to speak to the man. He´s on the run himself. They´d throw him in a cell the moment they see his face."_

And all Javert had done, was turn around and look at him, in utter silence.

"_You want them to …" _Vidocq had stopped mid sentence, totally aghast. _"You´re crazy. What good would that do? You´d never get out again."_

"_I´m not asking your permission."_

"_You´d die in there. If not by the hands of the prisoners – and I assume that a lot of them are in there because of you – then by the hands of the guards, who still hate you for building a case against some of their own. Believe me. It´s better we watch the prison from the outside."_

"_Do you have enough men to put the whole thing under surveillance twenty-four-seven? Every single angle? That´s what I thought. No. The only chance I have to get to this man before he´s gone, is from the inside."_

"_It´s a suicide mission."_

"_Maybe. But if I get the man who set those fires, it will be worth it."_

Javert closed his eyes from the tiny apartment he´d broken into. Neither Vidocq nor Jacques had objected anymore and it was good they hadn´t. He still meant every word of it. The spies had done what little they could to assist him in this. But from here he had to go this way alone. Or almost alone.

When Billinger finally came home, the police rookie had only one chance – only one – to fend off the attack. He missed it. And when he met Javert´s gaze, it was full of suppressed anger.

"I need to talk to you." Javert rasped.

**...**

The prison Bicêtre was 5 miles from Paris, easy enough to reach if you were only traveling. But if you were on the run … it was hell. Open roads almost the whole way, and even if you managed to reach the forest, there were open roads again beyond it. Almost impossible to stay hidden after – or rather if – anyone would ever manage to break out of this prison. But breaking out was impossible. The walls were high and the gates well guarded. Every window bared, armed guards with dogs circling the building inside and out. No way to ever get away from there.

But somehow one man would try anyway. Someone from outside would try. And Javert was certain that they knew how to do it. He knew from experience that it was possible to break out of jail, no matter how well guarded it was. He´d seen escape attempts that had worked. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes the desperate soul indeed got away. And sometimes they got caught and sentenced for even more years in prison.

He closed his eyes, only for a moment, when the fiacre stopped, trying not to think about how he´d gotten here. How he´d gotten that desperate to go this distance. Especially this one. It was too late for doubts. He was here now and there was no going back.

Billinger stepped out first, before he reached back inside to drag him out. Javert followed, stumbling. He struggled, but Billinger jerked him forward, and he almost lost his balance. The young police man didn´t seem to care. He just kept dragging him, so Javert followed.

He could see the guards at the gate, glancing curiously at them. Sweat ran into Javert´s eye, making him blink. God, it was hot under those bandages.

"What is this?" one of the guards demanded to know. "What´s your name, sir?"

"Lieutenant Billinger. Prefecture of Paris."

"And this?" the man gestured at Javert.

Billinger jerked Javert forward. "I just arrested him." he said. "He attacked me. Tried to rob me. I have an important appointment in Montreuil, so I can´t stay and take care of this. I need to leave that to you guys."

The guard looked over Javert, mostly the bandages on his head and left hand.

"What happened to him?"

"No idea." Billinger shrugged. "He looked like that when I caught him. I thought it´s a mask to hide his face when robbing fiacres but …" he stopped the man from inspecting the bandages closer with a simple gesture of his hand. "I already checked." he assured him. "He´s burned underneath it. Trust me. It´s not pretty."

The guard withdrew his hand in disgust. "What´s your name, criminal?" he demanded. And Javert simply glared at him, from underneath his bandages.

"Seems he doesn´t talk." Billinger explained. "Maybe he´s mute."

"Maybe." the guard mocked. "I guess he will talk sooner or later, if he can."

"That´s your business not mine." Billinger handed him over.

"How am I supposed to treat him?" the guard demanded to know, but would not get an answer.

"Don´t know, don´t care. I need to keep going. I simply can´t be late for my appointment."

With that Billinger would be gone – no more words, no more help – and he, Javert, would be a prisoner, as soon as his foot touched the ground beyond the threshold. He caught Billinger´s eye one last time, before the guards led him inside. A tiny nod, unseen by the anyone, but Javert knew to read it.

_You´re on your own now, inspector._

And Javert gave back the nod, just as quietly. _Thanks, Lieutenant. For everything. _

From here the was no going back.


	8. Prisoners

**Prisoners**

When the hot glowing iron touched his shoulder, Javert wanted to scream. He´d known it would be painful, he´d stood by many times while the prisoners got branded in Toulon, and they had all screamed. But he couldn´t. Mustn´t. They believed him a mute, and mute he had to remain. As soon as they knew he could talk they´d start questioning him, and if only one of them recognized his voice, his game was over.

The iron sunk into his skin, and he was sure it would burn right through to his bone. The pain was screeching in his brain, and oh he wanted to scream. But he bit it back. He would never find Valjean´s murderer if he lost it now. He was only at the beginning. And he owed it to Valjean not to drop the ball on this.

Eventually the iron withdrew. The pressure was off his shoulder, but not the pain. The burning sensation remained, as if to remind him of what he now was. A prisoner. A slave who wore chains, maybe for the rest of his life. A number instead of a person. 65725. That would be him from now on. And somehow Javert felt as if this was the rightful and deserved faith he suffered, for everything that he´d done in his life. For all the sins he had committed, in his false believe to serve the greater good. For all the years he´d done wrong by Valjean.

They told him to stay ready, for transport, as soon as someone decided what should happen to him. A process that could take days, maybe even weeks, Javert knew. Time that he would need.

The chains were heavy, the prison-clothes alien on him. He took it all. He took it in silence, accepting the possibility that he might not get out of there alive, ever again. Vidocq was right. If anyone recognized him, be it guard or prisoner, he´d be dead. No one in here would care to come and save his sorry ass. He´d die alone, he knew. He had accepted that. But he wouldn´t die without meaning. Not this time. This time he´d take someone with him. And he would make sure that the right person would pay.

The yard was littered with prisoners. Some of them working, dealing with their labor, closely watched by the guards – that was me, once upon a time, Javert kept thinking – while those who were not assigned to labor, just stood about. Watching, quietly talking, maybe plotting things, against the guards or even each other. Javert didn´t want to know. The times when he´d wanted to know were long gone. Now all he cared about was to find the man Billinger had described for him.

"_He has the number 78460. I was told he´s a small man but has a demeanor that makes others fear and respect him. He´s blond, slight curls, bushy beard. Blue eyes. And he has a tatoo on each arm, right here, all around like a rope."_

"_What´s his name?"_

"_What?"_

"_You don´t know his name?"_

"_Is the description not enough?"_

"_A name sticks to the mind, more than a number."_

"_You know that from experience, I reckon."_

Javert tried to focus. He hadn´t succeeded in intimidating Billinger with his glare. The young officer had a stronger character than he´d given him credit for. But hadn´t he been right?

The former police man let his eyes scan the men on the yard, comparing each of them with the description. And for a moment he felt strangely displaced. As if he was back in Toulon, a guard again, and when a skinny man with short cut hair and bushy beard turned around to him, he almost gasped, believing to see Valjean in him. But it wasn´t Valjean. And the man glared at him, suspiciously, obviously not happy to be scrutinized like that.

Javert kept gazing over the yard, away from him and his pal.

Billinger had been right. It _was_ experience. But experience was all he had left in here. Even this young rooky had known that. He probably understood more than he told Javert.

"_Let´s get this straight, inspector. I help you because you told me the truth. But I want to be honest with you too. It´s … so unbelievable … what you told me."_

"_I know."_

"_You didn´t say how. How you became … You swore to arrest him. He was a criminal. How did this happen?"  
_

_"I was asking that myself, over and over again."  
_

_"And?"_

"_And? It doesn´t matter. It makes no difference how it happened or why. He was there when no one else was. He stood by my side. Until the end. And I owe him the same."_

"_I´m going to help you. But technically I do nothing but put a criminal in jail. I guess doing this is still conform with my duties to serve justice."_

"_You´re not serving justice, Birringer. You serve the law. That´s a big difference."_

"_You know I can´t help you beyond the gates of this prison. If you go in there you are alone."  
_

_"I know."_

And this was nothing but the truth. It didn´t matter. This was how it had always been. The fact that his life should end like this, was only fair. He´d be content with it. As long as it served his purpose.

He finally spotted a man that fit the description. He was sitting on a bench, at the far end of the yard, staring at everything and nothing while idly chewing an old piece of bread. His face was haggard and his eyes strong, even though they lay deep in their sockets. He had a lot in common with the Jean Valjean Javert had known back in the days. But he wasn´t Valjean. He was the man who´d help him find Valjean´s murderer.

"Hey Quasimodo." someone suddenly grabbed his sleeve. "What´s up with the face?" the man instantly began to fiddle with his bandages as if wearing them was an offense in this place. "Now?" he demanded. "Lemme see the pretty face you´ve got there."

Javert raised his arms, fending off those hands and shoved the man back. He almost roared at him, to stay away, and remembered just in time to keep his voice hidden. His glare seemed to be more than enough though. And what he got in response was not less hateful.

"You seriously wanna pick a fight?" the man before him already rolled up his sleeves.

Javert realized too late what he had started. Before he even knew what happened, he was surrounded. Prisoners who either were _with_ this guy or simply wanted to watch. Javert had seen fights like that back in the days. And he knew they could go horridly wrong for the surrounded man. When they were unprepared, outnumbered or simply weaker than their attackers. And he _was_ outnumbered.

Was it already happening? Was this already the end? If he lost now, he´d lose forever. Maybe he was good and lucky enough to get out of this with a few injuries, maybe one or two broken bones was the best he could hope for. Considering how this man looked, he would not stop if Javert lay on the ground.

He prepared, more or less ready for the fight, not at all ready for the injuries he would have to suffer. But it never came that far. A truncheon suddenly went down, between the two of them, and a shout, full of authority demanded to know:  
"What the hell is going on here? Are you picking a fight again, 86406? I told you I would not tolerate any more of these."

"It wasn´t me." the addressed prisoner claimed, when two other guards took him. "It was the mummy over there. He started it."

Javert skipped back when all eyes searched him, shaking his head. But as it turned out he didn´t need to do much to convince those guards about his innocence. His attacker seemed to be well known.

"I´m supposed to believe that for a change, you are just the misunderstood victim?" the guard pushed the prisoner with his truncheon. "If I see you making trouble just one more time, 86406, you´ll spend the next month in a hole where no sunlight ever shines, you got that?"

The man scowled, full of hate but answered with a sulking: "Yes."

"Good." the guard nodded at his colleagues. "Ten lashes. Just as a reminder. And the rest of you …" he faced Javert warningly, as the prisoner 86406 got led away. "Back to your own business. The show is over."

It was an order Javert obeyed only too willingly. He´d gotten lucky, but who knew how long this luck would last. God, he had forgotten what to look out for, in such a prison. His time he had spend in one was too long ago, and his focus was diverted. His goal was too fixed, it had made him forget all about his surroundings. A mistake he could not afford to make again. This mission was too important to risk it like that.

The man he´d been looking for was still sitting on his bench. Of course he´d seen the whole thing, and now that Javert approached him, he was watching. Suspicious about this obviously disabled guy, that now scuffled over the yard to the benches – and him.

Javert dragged his feet, purposefully walking slow, as if the fight had left him weak. He didn´t glance at the man, when he sat down on the bench, his back to him as if he were the last thing on his mind. But obviously his act of playing uninterested did not fool this man.

"What do you want?" he demanded, after a minute of silence. The warning tone was unmistakable.

Javert glanced over his shoulder, trying to read the man, but unfortunately the stoic prisoner was hard to estimate. He chuckled at Javert´s silence.

"You still wanna pretend you can´t talk?" he asked. "Fine. As long as you stay away from me."

Javert dropped the act at last, and turned around to him. "You´re the man that killed Lecomte." he spoke, quietly. "Aren´t you?"

The smirk in the prisoner´s eyes vanished, behind a mask of stone and he got up, to walk in on Javert, threateningly.

"Who wants to know that?"

Javert remained seated. He probably would have towered over the man, but just like Billinger said, he had a demeanor that made him seem taller than he was.

"Just someone who would have wanted to kill this guy himself." he answered his question.

The man regarded him, frowning deeply. Thinking. "Is that so?"

Javert only looked up at him.

"What did he do to you?" the man wanted to know. "That?" he pointed at his bandages and Javert shook his head.

"He killed someone. A woman that was very close to me."

"I see." the prisoner, raised his chin, licking his back tooth in consideration. "Well, that guy seems to have caused a lot of deaths." he said eventually. "You´re welcome." Having said this he turned around.

"And now leave me alone."

"Why did _you_ do it?" Javert hurried after him.

"Not your concern." the man growled, trying to ignore him. But of course Javert could not do him the favor.

"I´m afraid it is." he said and grabbed the man. Luck was with him yet again. They had reached a spot where, if he was swift, he could easily drag him into a shady corner, out of sight for guards and other prisoners. And this was what he did.

The attack came too unexpected for his man to react in time. Javert pushed him against the wall, using his chain to choke him and hold him in place.

"I know you didn´t do it, just because you felt like it." he hissed into the man´s face. "Someone hired you, and I want to know who it was."

Instead of answering him, the prisoner kicked out, driving his knee into Javert´s upper leg and only a second later he dealt out blows, punches that were uncoordinated but full of rage. A man who knew how to fight for his very life.

Javert received a lot of hits, but he could deal out just as well. He found his balance back and blocked the punches that came his way, directing them past his face into the air. His opponent was raging even more, when his fists hit nothing. Javert circled the furious man, to get the wall into his own back. When another punch came his way, he finally pushed the fist aside, past his cheek and right into the brick wall.

A terrible crunching sound was followed by a cry of pain. Javert did not wait for his enemy to overcome the shock. He grabbed his other hand and twisted it up, behind his back, pushing the man face first into the wall.

"All right, I´ll overlook this attempt of disrespect." Javert hissed. "As long as you answer my question." There was still no response but he could clearly feel the defiance in the prisoner´s muscles. He was still fighting him. Javert forced the hand further up, inflicting more pain, and the man cried out again.

"I have no problem breaking your hand and your arm right along with it." Javert told him. "And if that isn´t enough there are still enough other bones in your body, man. Don´t think the guards will be fast enough to save you from being a cripple the rest of your life."

"What do you want?" the man asked.

"I want an answer. Who ordered you to kill Lecomte?"

"Why? What´s it to you? And don´t give me that crap about your girlfriend again."

Javert forced the hand up again.

"The man who hired you, has killed my friend. And I am probably on his list too. That´s what it is to me."

The prisoner seemed to think, even through the pain Javert still inflicted. "If you´re a police spy …"

"I´m not." Javert stopped him right there. "What I just told you is true."

The man in his grip, craned his neck a little more, to look at him and Javert allowed the movement. It seemed as if he started to believe him.

"Why is he trying to kill you?" he asked, and Javert released a little more pressure yet again.

"That´s what I want to find out. That and where I can find him."

"Find him." the man echoed and laughed out. "You´re in a prison. You won´t find him in here."

"No." Javert said. "But out there I will. And you´ll help me."

"And how am I supposed to do that? You did notice the walls, right? And those chains?"

"I´m sure he promised you to take care of that."

When the prisoner looked at him this time, his defiance was overshadowed by an anger that almost looked pouting. Because Javert had guessed his secret. It was childish.

Javert nodded. "I´ll be with you when he comes to get you out. And then you´ll introduce me to your friend."

"And why should I do that?"

The man seemed to have forgotten that his hand was still under Javert´s control. So Javert thought it wise to remind him. Only this time it didn´t seem to be enough to inflict physical pain.

"You can break my arm if you want." the man panted. "But that won´t make a difference. It´ll only make it harder for me to get out of here unseen. And that would also spoil your escape."

Surprised Javert finally let go. But the man did not attack. He only massaged his hurting arm.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name´s Javert. I was the one who brought Lecomte to court. Me and my friend."

"The one who died."

"The one who got murdered. And I want his killer. Simple as that."

The prisoner was still thinking, still trying to decide. "You are a cop." he stated.

"Were." Javert corrected. Other than that he didn´t say anything, just waited for the man to ask his question.

"Was your friend too?"

"No. He was a con." For a moment Javert halted, reconsidering. "An ex con." he corrected.

The prisoner was startled, and for some reason it made Javert angry.

"He was a saint." he told the man, to make sure he knew what all this was about. "And he did not deserve to die like that. Whatever your pal told you about the reason for Lecomte´s death, he told you nothing but lies. There was no reason in this world to kill a man like Valjean."

The prisoner before him was frowning, lowering his eyes for a moment. "Was that his name?" he asked. Javert nodded and the man nodded back. "I guess if a cop …"

"Ex." Javert talked over him, insisting, and the man raised his brows, impressed.

"You guys seem to have quite a story, indeed."

"Will you help me or not?"

The man was still thinking but Javert could tell that he´d begun to think in his direction. "He´s an acquaintance from the old days." he finally started talking. "I only did what he asked, because he promised to get me out. And because I knew who Lecomte was."

"A cop?"

"A traitor. I might be locked in here, but I hear what´s going on out there. This guy would have bitten the dust by someone´s hand sooner or later anyway. Could as well serve me to my freedom."

Javert had to bite back a sharp response. "So what´s the plan?" he asked instead. "How does he plan to get you out? And when?"

"Are you trying to mock me now?" the prisoner snapped. "You know exactly how and when."

Javert only stared at him, not understanding.

"You wanna tell me that it is total coincidence that you show up on the exact day the break is supposed to happen?" the man cried, and finally Javert did understand.

"It happens today?"

The prisoner frowned, irritated. "In the evening." he affirmed. "You seriously didn´t …?"

"How?"

The man regarded him, considering. "I´ll show you." he promised, and gestured for Javert to follow. "Come on."

**...**

When the sun was setting at the end of this day, Javert was standing in the line of prisoners, waiting for the guards to count them. It was a strange out of body feeling. To see the chains on his wrists, the clothes of a prisoner covering his arms, the still stinging sensation of the brand on his arm. A number like Valjean had once worn it. In some way he´d never been closer to Valjean than he was in this moment.

We become what we fear.

Javert had never stopped believing that. But in some way this thought was now somehow comforting. It felt as if Valjean was standing right next to him, right by his side, in this place that was so close and yet so far from everything Javert had ever tried to accomplish. Never in his life had he expected to end up here, in this place, even less that he´d be here by choice, ready to die as the very thing he´d always despised. But if it should be this way, so be it. He had accepted that risk the moment he´d broken into Billinger´s apartment. And maybe on some level, he was even hoping for that.

_I´ve been worried about you, Antoine. Ever since you started to show those suicidal tendencies. You don´t seriously think about doing that, do you?_

Javert closed his eyes, willing the voice away. Stop that. This isn´t real. And no, I´m not gonna kill myself. Not before I haven´t found this bastard. Not before I don´t know I can take him with me. So do me a favor, Valjean, and shut up. I need to focus if I wanna find your killer.

"Hey!" someone nudged him in the side. Duprey – _that´s_ his name, Billinger! – Javert´s temporal partner in crime. His tiny blue eyes regarded him now, very aware, almost alarmed. "Are you still with me, pal?" he asked. "Focus. I need you awake."

Javert gave him a glare, but kept his mouth shut. The guards were too close, and so were the other prisoners. But Duprey understood him. He accepted the unspoken words, nodding satisfied.

"Stay ready." he instructed him, quietly, and lowered his eyes again, when the guard walked past them, counting their row.

Just as the man reached the far end of their row, one of the prisoners there cried out, at the touch of the guard´s hand on his shoulder. The man swayed, still whining and dropped forward, into the guard, who caught and shoved him back, annoyed.

"Stop that!" he demanded, but the man kept whining.

"You bastard!" he cried. "You brutal bastard."

Some others threw glares at the guard, grumbling angrily, and the man quickly turned defensive.

"I barely touched him." he cried, but of course the prisoners saw it differently.

A few other guards hurried to stand by their colleague, supportive, but by doing so they left their own positions unwatched. Of course the prisoners took advantage of that – every chance for a riot, even the smallest one, would be taken with glee by men who were made to live in chains like those. Javert watched how one man started pushing an unprepared guard, alone now after his partner had gone to support the other. The same thing happened on the other side of the yard, and everything after that went down too fast for Javert to remember it in detail.

All he knew was that suddenly, the guards had to deal with a lot of shouting and shoving. Fists were flying and truncheons fell on backs and heads, and all Javert knew was that this riot was something he would have fought down with determination twenty years ago. Now he took advantage of it, just as Duprey had planned it all along.

It was amazing how simple it was. One man payed to start the hassle and the mindset of the crowd would do the rest. Now the guards were too busy to notice two single men sneaking away from the tumult.

The door into the building was unwatched. No need to guard it. Where would a man go other than to his cell? But of course the cells were not their destiny today. It was the rooftop.

They had approximately two minutes until the guards would have the tumult under control again, and maybe one more until they noticed that two prisoners were missing. Another minute until they´d start searching the place and close in on them. If they were fast they might have a chance for another minute, due to the fact that the rooftop was not the first place they would search, to find a con that tried to run.

If Javert was honest, it would have been the last place a con would chose to make his escape. But climbing over the wall was no option, not as long as it was still daylight, and the only windows that were not barred were the tiny holes up in the roof. Duprey had shown him and he had been right.

They were not barred because they were tiny. Because the way to the basement was locked. Because there was no way down that roof even if someone should manage it to get out of the windows there. Not if he didn´t want to break his neck.

And yet, this was exactly the place they were trying to reach.

_Don´t say it, Jean. I know what you want to say. It´s too late for that._

The locks of the door that led to the basement was old, Duprey had said. Easy to break open with enough force. And to get down was the part his partner in crime had promised to take care of. A rope was all they needed, and in order to get a rope all Duprey needed, was a thin and long enough thread.

"It´s not very complicated to break out of prison." he´d told him. "It´s the run itself as soon as you´re out. Not to get caught again. And this is where my old friend takes over."

And this was the thought that drove Javert from that point on. That the man he was hunting would wait for them right outside this prison. That all he needed to do was getting over with this and he would get his chance. Everything after that would not matter anymore. As soon as he had him, he would gladly take a bullet, as long as he knew his killer would too.

The chains were the biggest challenge. He had to get rid of them before they had to climb down. And time was short. He only had as long as it took Duprey to throw the little stone he´d tied around his thread out of the window, and pull up the rope his friend would attach for him. Javert tried not to think about it. It was hard enough to work with this little piece of shit the prisoners were getting for a spoon. He almost didn´t think he´d make it, opening the lock. Eventually it did snap open though, just as Duprey was done winding the rope around the beam above the window. His feet were free. But his hands – there was no time left to try again. And Duprey was already at the window.

"I go first." Javert demanded, and took the rope, not even intending of giving Duprey an explanation.

The criminal did not object. He even helped him climb up to get out of the window. It was a tricky thing. His shoulders got in his way. He needed to wriggle back and forth, stretch out one arm – not easy with the chains hindering him – and pull the other shoulder behind, in order to fit through. The fabric of his rag got torn, and he lost a good deal of skin in the process. But in the end he was outside, sitting on the sill for a moment until he was certain to have enough balance to put his foot on the shingles.

He slipped, only for a moment, before he found his grip.

Javert took the rope and moved hand over hand along the rope, until he reached the edge. Carefully, he lowered himself down. The chains were rattling but did not disturb him all that much. Now all that was left for him to do was hoping that no one would spot him until he was down.

Soon. Soon. Just a little bit more. A few more meters. The glimpse he threw down, provided him with a figure standing there. But he had to focus on the climbing or he would fall. So he didn´t see who was waiting there, until his feet finally touched the ground.

He jumped down, ready to attack instantly, and froze, when he saw a woman. Not a man. And her eyes were on him, just as irritated as they were suspicious. Her stance was defensive, reacting to his threatening posture. Javert had no idea if she really knew how to fight to defend herself but seeing her now, she reminded him a lot of Marianne. Too much.

"Who are you?" they asked each other almost simultaneously and Javert had to remind himself of the fact that talking too loud was dangerous in their position.

"Get down, you idiots." Duprey agreed on this notion, as he reached them. He ducked down instantly, making an example, and hid in the high grass of the field.

Javert cursed and went down as well. This was not what he had expected. Who was that woman, and where was his murderer? Had he hired someone to do his dirty work for him? Had he guessed trouble? Was he waiting behind the treeline?

"Adeline." he heard Duprey hiss. "What …?"

"Philippe sent me to get you out. He told me to keep a fiacre at the ready."

"Where is it?" Javert asked, eyes scanning the walls of the prison. He could hear them. Shouts from inside the walls. They were running out of time. Soon they would start looking for them outside the walls. And this rope was easy to spot.

The woman eyed him, with this strangely suspicious glance one last time, and for a moment he felt as if he should watch his back when he was around her.

"Adeline." Duprey urged her, and finally she turned and gestured for them to follow.

They had to make their way through the grass, crawling like dogs, to keep from getting spotted, knowing that the lane they drew behind would probably be easy to spot from above anyway. The chains made it twice as complicated, allowing only a limited usage of hands and in Duprey´s case legs too. Still, some higher power must have been with them, because somehow they made it to the treeline undisturbed.

Javert watched out, the whole time, for any man that might be waiting for them behind the trees. But no one was there. Instead the woman urged them on, running ahead, through the wood, and while Javert´s feet were free, Duprey visibly struggled not to stumble and fall. Javert stayed behind him, just in case he should fall after all. They couldn´t afford to lose time, so Javert was ready to pick him up quickly if it should be necessary.

What he was not prepared for though was that the stumbling fugitive before him, suddenly looked strangely familiar. Short cut hair on a scarred skull, skinny yet muscular figure, and a slight limp that dragged behind an injured leg. Valjean must have looked similar pitiful when he´d tried to run from prison all those years ago. Now he was running again, and Javert was yet again, pursuing him.

Would it never end? Was that all he could ever be? And him? Was there nothing more?

Javert had to will the image away. No. Stop that. It wasn´t Valjean running there before him. It was Duprey the criminal who´d killed Lecomte. A murderer just like the man Javert tried to hunt down.

_Focus, Antoine. Don´t get distracted again. Focus._

He was right. Distraction could mean death. And he couldn´t afford this.

The fiacre waited for them on a footpath, just behind a small slope. Nothing fancy, just one horse, but enough for them to hop in and drive off, away from the area where they´d be looking for them. If Javert had had the time and the heart for that, he would have felt cheated by how easy it was to break out of a prison like Bicêtre. And if he ever found the will for such things again, he might write a letter to the prefecture, informing them about the holes in their security belts.

Duprey began fiddling with the curtain that covered the window, only a minute into the drive, and tore off a piece of something, Javert could not identify. It had been used to hold the curtain, that was all he knew.

Duprey handed it to him. "Uncuff us." he practically ordered, and in his lack of any other exercise during their ride, Javert gladly obeyed. He would feel better without those chains himself.

It took him about ten minutes to trick the locks on Duprey´s chains into snapping open. The convict threw the chains off with fervent disgust. Javert made no gesture to comment on it, just went to work on his own cuffs. The last remaining thing that made him a prisoner. Except for the brand on his shoulder. Just like Valjean had worn it all his life. God, how it must have been. To know. Always reminded, that he wore his worst secret plainly on his very own skin. And now it was him, Javert, who wore that very same sign.

When the chains finally gave his wrists free, he took them off, but somehow found it hard to let go of them. What had become of him? This was where he´d come from. What he´d always fought. He had returned to it. And even though this was not his place, even though he was not really a criminal and prisoner … he almost didn´t want to forget about it. Even though this was false. Even though the feel of metal on his hands was disgusting as hell. But somehow it was important. As if somewhere in these chains, he could find Valjean again. The prisoner. The fugitive. The only man he´d ever met that ever truly cared for others. Even him.

"How do you know to do this?" Duprey asked into the silence, startling him up. The convict looked at him, still massaging his own wrists. "Did your friend teach you to crack locks?"

Javert snorted, finally dropping the chains. "No. Valjean had no idea how to pick a lock. There were a lot of things he had no idea about. This is the reason why he´s dead. He was an idiot and way too trusting."

"A way too trusting dead idiot you would now give your life for." the criminal mentioned, shrugging as if this notion was not much to talk about. "Sounds convincing to me."

Javert gave the man a scowl. "Who says I plan to die for this?" he rasped, but Duprey was not impressed at all.

"Your eyes."

For a moment Javert was speechless. But only for a moment.

"Listen, criminal." he hissed. "Let me get one thing straight. What I´m planning to do, is not your concern. You´re only to lead me to my murderer, and everything after that is not your business. You will leave and not look back. And I will abstain from pursuing you. I don´t care where you go or what you do with the rest of your pitiful life. All I care about is him."

"Him."

"The killer."

"Of course."

Javert frowned, irritated, then angry. Was this man trying to mock him?

"You know …" Duprey spoke, starting anew, and his eyes wandered behind himself, as if he tried to point at something. "Adeline. She´s his wife. You´d make her a widow."

The notion filled Javert with the briefest moment of guilt. The moment came and it passed. "Valjean had a daughter, who is now an orphan because of this man. And don´t even get me started on all the other people he killed in this fire. There were children among them. Women. One of them a witness we had under our care that night. So don´t you dare telling me to show mercy. He doesn´t deserve any."

The criminal did not give another response after that. He simply leaned back and nodded, as if he truly understood. As if.

**...**

They were driving slowly, probably to not attract attention, and when the fiacre finally stopped, Javert felt strangely reminded of the night when he´d come home with Valjean. Getting out of a fiacre, after sunset, to a small house in one of the middle class quarters of Paris … all he needed now was Cosette and her boyfriend stepping out of the front door and the madness would have been perfect. Perfect enough to make him believe he had only dreamed this whole ordeal. This nightmare.

But Cosette and Marius did not step out of the front door. No one did. And the man who stepped out of the fiacre after Javert was not Valjean. It was Duprey.

"Come on in." the woman urged them, unfriendly, and led the way to the front door. The fiacre didn´t seem to concern her. Maybe she simply wanted them inside, before anyone spotted the two men in prisoner´s clothes.

"Why are the blinds shaded?" Duprey mentioned. "Are you expecting trouble? Is anyone looking for Philippe?"

"No." Adeline answered, unlocking the door. "But for you."

That was probably true. Still Javert couldn´t help but feel a slight form of claustrophobia when they entered the house. It was dark inside. The little lamp Adeline lit was not helping much. But since she didn´t seem to consider it necessary to light any more, they simply followed her when she led the way.

"Philippe is in the back." she told them. "He´s waiting for you."

Javert glanced about, as best as he could. The darkness was deep beyond the shine of light of the little lamp, but he believed to see a lot of buckets standing all over the room. And the carpet under his feet … it felt … wet? What was the matter with this place?

He didn´t get a chance to think this thought through. Adeline opened a door for them. And Javert focused. If his murderer was really in there, he would have to be ready.

They followed her inside, and Javert scanned the room, stacked up with lots of old furniture, heavy curtains covering the windows, but otherwise it was empty. No one was there.

"What is this?" he asked, turning back to the woman. And that was the moment when he heard the sound of the lamp hitting the ground.

The light exploded into his face, blinding him with the sudden brightness in this so far dark room. And before he knew how to properly react, the door had been closed behind them. He could already smell the stench of the burning carpet.

"Adeline!" he heard Duprey yell, as the criminal threw himself against the door. "ADELINE!"

Javert kicked the burning carpet aside, against a sideboard but the wood was dry and only fed the fire. Dammit.

Duprey hammered his fists against the door, threw his shoulder against it, but it didn´t move. All the while the flames ate their way up the furniture, reaching for the curtains and all around the room. Thick smoke was rising and collected under the ceiling. And all Javert could think was … trapped. She trapped us in here. Like rats.

In his mind he saw the buckets again, all over the living room, felt the wetness of the carpet under his feet again. And the door. He joined Duprey, and touched the wood. Not to try and open the door, he was sure it was bolted safely. But he needed to know. And he was right. The door was wet. Drenched with water. To resist the flames.  
Javert closed his eyes. How could he have been so blind? He´d run right into it.

Duprey abandoned the door, and rushed to the window. The curtains were blazing by now, but he reached past them anyway. And it wasn´t until the window hit the bars that he noticed they were trapped. Javert just couldn´t believe it. The air around them was getting unbearable, heat and smoke making it impossible to breath. Duprey doubled over, shaken by his coughs. And Javert looked about, desperately trying to find a way out of this hell.

But everything around them was of wood – fuelwood. Javert dismissed the thought and grabbed the next best thing that looked as if it could serve as a ram. The glass shattered easily, but hitting the shades through the bars was a real trick. He made it once, hit a bar the second time, and slipped. His sleeve caught fire and he jumped back, slapping onto the flames frantically to smother them. Ridiculous considering their surroundings.

Duprey picked up the beam and continued what he´d interrupted. He hit the bars as well but those lost tries only seemed to increase his determination. Fire took hold of his sleeve too, but other than Javert he simply ignored it, yelling in his pain and rage, and finally, finally the shades flew open.

The convict cried out and let go of the beam to try and get rid of his burning clothes. Probably in vain anyway. The flames had long reached his face, Javert could see and most important smell it, even over this insane heat all around them. He rushed to the window, and grabbed the bars. Fast. Iron. No chance. And that was when he saw her.

She was just standing there, right in front of him, looking in, as if she´d been there all along. To watch them burn. As Javert looked she raised a gun, silently, without a change in her features and he skipped back. His instinct kept him from taking more than one step back into this all eating fire, that was already suffocating Duprey behind him. And all the while she was just looking, aiming her gun, and there was something in her eyes, something cold, but not less burning than the fire around Javert. Hot and merciless. And that was when he understood. He´d been so wrong.

She wouldn´t shoot him, Javert knew that now. Her gun was merely an order. Don´t move. Don´t try anything. Don´t survive.

She didn´t want to shoot him. She wanted to see him burn. In this little extension of hell she had created for them. And as Javert glanced about himself, at the blazing curtains, furniture and the by now half dead Duprey, who wouldn´t manage to stay away from the flames much longer, he finally saw that he had miscalculated. That he had underestimated his enemy and that there would be no miracle to save his sorry ass just one last time. They were trapped, and here in this tiny room he would at last pay for his sins, his arrogance.

Javert stepped back, his heart seized by the profound shock of disbelieve, about the realization that his life would end. Finished. That was all he could think. He had failed. His death would be the same as Valjean´s. As if this had always been his fate, ever since this had begun.

Maybe it was.

He´d been so blind.

Please, he pleaded, praying for the only thing he could still hope for. Please, forgive me.

But forgiveness was not meant for him. This fire was. And in the end Javert let go, and ruefully surrendered to the heat.


	9. Unexpected

**Unexpected**

He almost didn´t see it coming. His lungs were burning, with heat and smoke, his throat hurting, as if he was breathing acid. And if it hadn´t been for the reaction of the woman, to something that happened outside of his view, he wouldn´t have known anything. But when her head flew aside, alarmed by something, he flinched. And then she bolted, away from the window, towards the front door, as if suddenly something there was more important than to watch them die.

And then Javert heard it. This deep rumbling sound of wood scraping against wood. A voice, almost inaudible over the crackling of the flames, calling something he didn´t understand. And then all the sudden the door was open.

Duprey swirled around, on the ground, and was back to life instantly. His survival instinct gave him one last boost, to make it to safety after all. But he was still more crawling than running, breaking down still on the threshold. And that was the only reason why he didn´t die. Just as he pushed out, a shot smashed through the door, and finally Javert stopped gaping.

The smoke, surrounding him like a predator, made his lungs scream in agony, the heat almost boiling his brain and in the dark living room he was as good as blind. Coughs so hard he could barely control them, and all he wanted to do was break down where he was. But he couldn´t. Because it wasn´t over.

He could see the two shadows struggling, on the other side of the room. The smaller one raised a knife and stabbed their unexpected savior, missing his chest about mere inches, more due to luck than skill. Javert heard a cry of pain, just before the woman got knocked off her feet. Her head hit the bureau in an awkward angle and when she dropped to the ground, she lay still.

The dark man doubled over, holding his injured shoulder, and Javert had no time to lose anymore. The fire was not meant to spread over the rest of the house, but the wet carpet and wood were no guarantee. He shouldered the half dead Duprey and dragged him to the door. One quick glance at the hooded man just as he picked up Adeline, was all he could dare.

His throat was hurting yet again, and a new coughing fit made him stumble, with Duprey, who landed on the street before him. Javert saw the hooded man, hurry past him, the woman in his arm like a sleeping sweetheart, and only for a moment, the figure stopped to turn back to him. As if to check. Javert could still not see his face. Too much water in his eyes, blurring his vision, and oh God it burned. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them again. The air had turned to acid.

After another moment the man turned and hurried away, down the street. The tiny fiacre Adeline had parked before the house was gone – horses smelling fire wouldn´t wait for an order to move – but there was a bigger carriage, parked idly at the end of the street.

Javert ignored the gaping neighbors, and their cries for someone to call upon the firebrigade. If he wouldn´t hurry, this man would kidnap his murderer. And he could not allow this.

He began to run, walking slowly when he couldn´t manage any more speed, stumbling, again and again as his feet seemed tons heavier than before. His head was spinning, his lungs not capable anymore to take in enough air to keep him awake. But he had to keep going. He just had to … reach this carriage, before it drove off.

The hooded figure loaded the woman inside, assisted by someone who´d been waiting in the carriage. A boy? Javert could barely see. His vision took turns in being clear and foggy. He needed to go faster.

His foot slipped again, but he caught himself. He couldn´t understand their words. The only thing he could make out was the voice. It sounded so familiar. And when his heart sped up in fear, his head began to swirl even worse.

This was so much like his dream. The dream in which he´d chased the murderer through the streets, a hooded man, only to catch him at last and find a burned skull underneath the hood, scorched claws reaching out for him, in vengeance and bloodthirst. But Javert just couldn´t stop. Even though he knew that if this would be what he would find, he would lose his mind on the spot and probably drop dead from a frozen heart. But he had to see.

The man turned around, just as he reached him, and Javert grabbed the hood. When he could see the face at last, his breath got stuck inside his throat.

No.

Two hands reached out, to grab him. Words were formed, but he just couldn´t hear them anymore. The last thing he thought before the darkness took him, was that he was probably already dead.

**...**

If that wasn´t a dejavu – waking up in a strange bed, as a patient after a fight for life and death – Javert would have believed to dream. Or be indeed dead. He felt irritated, and disoriented but only for a moment. The wound on his arm was not a shot wound – not this time – it was a burn, and it had been bandaged. The burned shirt of the prisoner he´d become hung over a chair nearby. Along with a clean white shirt. Obviously someone had taken good care he would not feel embarrassed should he wake up alone.

Someone.

Javert remembered the face under the hood and was up on his feet in one swift move. Fuming.

His head protested against the fast rising and he had to sit down again. But the thought of last night´s events were enough to overcome this issue, quickly. He took a moment to examine himself. Beside the treated burn on his arm – it still stung, just like the brand – there seemed to be no outside wound. His lungs were still hurting though, as did every muscle in his body. But he had more important things to think about. Killing a certain someone for example.

He still had no idea where he was, but it was a well situated place, that much he could tell. Dismissing this question for later, he threw on the shirt and was on his way to the door, before he was even finished closing it. He still felt light-headed, but breathing methods learned over years of service came easily and instinctively. He would stay on his feet.

He reached the door. And as if he´d timed it, the door went open, just as Javert reached for the handle.

He flinched, but only for a second. Of course the man looked at him startled, but dear God, if that gaze wasn´t as fake as everything else about this man. Javert stared at him, thunderstruck, relieved, shocked, all at once. But most of all he was boiling, with anger, only calmed by the still existing doubt. It could still be a dream. A fever dream. A vision of a dying mind.

"Tell me I´m awake, and not hallucinating." he spoke, his own voice alien to him and a relieved smile spread over Valjean´s face.

"You´re not dreaming …" he said, and that was when Javert could finally move again. He didn´t act by choice, but by total instinct, when he grabbed him, disrupting the not finished speech.

"Good." he hissed into his face, as Valjean´s back hit the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. "You son of a bitch."

"Antoine." Valjean grunted. "Please. I know this must be confusing. But I can explain."

"I´m really anxious to hear how you explain that."

"You´re breaking my ribs."

"How could you possibly explain that? Do you have any idea what I´ve been through?"

"Yes." Valjean croaked, and his eyes … they were so deceivingly gentle. "I saw it." he told him. "I was there. The whole time."

Instead of calming his anger, this reveal took the strength from Javert´s arms. What?

"I had no choice, Antoine." Valjean tried to convince. "I knew she wouldn´t stop until she had me killed."

She. "You knew it was a her?"

"No." the old con shook is head. "I knew nothing. And I wouldn´t have found out anything, as long as I was the hunted."

So that was it. Javert´s anger returned. "So you faked your death in order to become the hunter." he understood, and for a moment he was back in Rue du l´homme armee, after the fire. Willing the image away took more effort than ever. "I saw your body." he tried to shout, and only managed a whisper. "The key." God, the rage left him shaking.

And Valjean only looked at him, almost solemn, as if Javert´s consternation was nothing to him. "What you saw was my neighbor." he told him. "He tried to grab me, but he was already dead. I didn´t even notice he had my key. It all happened so fast I … couldn´t help him anymore. And the girl …"

Javert let go of him at last, too exhausted to keep this up. He didn´t need to see Valjean´s face to know those apologetic eyes.

"Antoine, I´m sorry I couldn´t tell you."

He still didn´t feel anything but exhaustion. "You could have trusted me." he managed the little he was still capable off. He wished he had the strength to strangle this man. "Wasn´t that your big speech back then? About partners who should trust each other?" Javert wanted to laugh but couldn´t.

"I do trust you." Valjean assured him. "But I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"That the arsonist would come after you too. And Cosette. I needed to disappear … and become invisible … in order to protect you both."

"Protect." Javert just couldn´t believe it. "Yeah, sure, you did all this for totally altruistic reasons. The great Jean Valjean would never act selfish. Because that just wouldn´t be right."

He turned on his heel, heading for the door, but Valjean´s hand stopped him, just on the threshold. Javert could have easily fended him off, but something froze his hands to the frame, digging his nails into the wood. Maybe the fact that Valjean´s hand lay exactly where the brand was, a number, burned into his skin forever.

"I … I´m sorry that I failed you … Antoine." Valjean spoke, and something about his inner struggle, so visible now, suddenly made the big difference.

If it had been intended or not, it wasn´t important. Javert turned on his heel, back to him, and simply took him into his arms, unable all the sudden to stop himself. He squeezed him, held him, as if afraid to ever let go again. He could feel Valjean´s surprise, then his relief, even happiness, dear God this sentimental old man. And Javert simply couldn´t let go. He knew he was embarrassing himself, that he was exposing himself, way too much. But he simply couldn´t let go. He was alive. Alive! And this was real. God in heaven.

"You godforsaken son of a bitch."

He´d barely heard his own voice, and he would have convinced himself that he´d only thought not spoken it, hadn´t it been for Valjean´s chuckle, so heartily as if he too had held his breath till now. But now it had broken free, and the old con was increasing the strength of his embrace. As if he was indeed happy. God, Javert hated this man.

"I´m sorry, Antoine." he told him, yet again. "I´m so sorry for …" Javert could feel him shake his head. " … everything."

Sure you are, Javert thought, and when they parted, so Valjean could look at him, he was still shaking. The lying bastard was not yet done apologizing.

"I had no idea you would …" he began but this time Javert´s fist made sure he´d finish the sentence on the ground. Valjean went down, grunting in surprise, and as he looked down on him, the former inspector considered carefully if he shouldn´t add a well placed kick, just for good measure.

Valjean looked about as if unsure how he´d gotten to the ground all the sudden. And Javert just turned his back on him.

"I guess I deserved that." the old con massaged his cheek.

"You deserve much more than that. And you know it."

"I know." Valjean sat up, struggling for balance and when Javert took pity at last, and gave him a hand, of course Valjean took it. And the bastard was smiling, so warmly. Javert had to restrain himself from pulling him in again right away and hated himself for this impulse. But no. This would be a present Valjean simply didn´t deserve.

Instead he increased the grip he had on the man´s hand, intentionally more than comfort would allow. Valjean would get the message. But just in case he didn´t, Javert told him.

"If you don´t tell me next, that at least something good came out of this, I swear to you, I´ll kill you for good this time."

**...**

"I learned a lot these last few days." Valjean led him down a huge flight of stairs. The house must be enormous. Slowly it dawned on Javert where he was.

"I hope you did." he growled, and Valjean stopped, to glance back at him. What he saw in his eyes made Javert take a step back at last. All right, all right, I´m listening.

But before Valjean could start, there was a sound from below. A door. Footsteps. And then Javert saw Cosette and Marius enter the hall. A kid was with them. The boy Valjean had collected in the streets, on that day, when they still hadn´t guessed any of this.

Cosette´s gaze fell on him, and she stopped in her tracks, only for a moment.

Javert followed Valjean the rest of the way downstairs. "Even though this is not the usual order." he began, forcing himself to ignore the girl´s stony look. "But … start at the end, Valjean. Who is she? And why did she do it?"

"The fires?"

"The killings."

Valjean took a breath. The answer didn´t seem to be an easy one. "Remember that night, at Lecomte´s place?" he asked. "The three men we …" his eyes darted to Cosette and Marius for a second. "That died that night?"

Javert saw it in his face. Of course he remembered that night. And upon this memory, he slowly started to guess it. The truth behind all that had happened.

"One of them was her husband." Valjean affirmed with a grave nod.

Javert closed his eyes. So that was it. Revenge. The oldest of all reasons. God, he should have known. He should have known.

"You know which one?" he asked but Valjean shook his head.

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

He glanced aside, at the kids, and suddenly his mind was someplace else. The second topic that just wouldn´t leave him, ever since he´d woken up with the memory of Valjean´s face under the hood. The man he´d thought to be dead. The man that had kept himself hidden from him, his so called partner, letting him believe he had died. Why was that so familiar?

"Tell me something." he spoke, unable to let go of this until he knew. "Did you know? When I came here to tell you … Did you …?"

"No." Cosette´s face was still stony, her voice cold and impersonal. "I didn´t."

"I only revealed myself to them, when we came back here earlier." Valjean spoke, sounding as if he had to apologize in their name. As if it was the kids Javert would blame. "I told you." he said. "I had no chance to tell anyone. Except for Pascal." The boy looked up but didn´t speak, shamefully aware that this was not his place to be. "He was unknown to the arsonist, other than you." Valjean explained, his voice pleading. "My family. I had to let you believe I was dead so _she_ would believe it."

When his apologetic glance searched Cosette, the girl cast down her eyes, as if not sure if she could or wanted to forgive him … yet.

Javert grunted. "At least I´m not the only one you fooled then."

"Javert."

But Javert raised a hand. "Forget it. There´s really no pattern in your logic, concerning honestly and lies." he glowered at his partner. "Not sure if that relieves or concerns me though." When Valjean attempted to speak, Javert simply went on. "Where is she now?" he demanded to know.

But this time it was Marius who answered the question.

"We locked her in a room upstairs. My aunt´s old bedroom. It´s the only room that has a barred window."

Javert halted, startled. Now that was unexpected. "There´s a barred window in this place?"

Marius nodded. "My aunt was always … very mistrusting towards burglars and … men in general. She felt saver sleeping with bars on her window."

Javert surely didn´t want to look at Valjean, first thing at this notion, but his reflex was to do exactly that. Not everyone´s cup of tea. Marius seemed to catch the thought, and shrugged, only a little embarrassed.

"Now it serves us to hold this … person." he stated, and of course he was right.

Javert didn´t care if these bars just happened to be here, or if they forged a cage together for this murderous woman. For all he cared they could have kept her in a box, nailed shut and watched by bloodthirsty dogs. In his heart he almost wanted to see her like this. Chained like the criminal that she was.

"I want to see her." he demanded, but Valjean seemed to object.

"What good would that do?" he asked, and just the fact that he seemed so calm, made Javert boil with even more anger. He turned to him, and closed the distance between them, as if Valjean was a hostile, and not his friend.

"Are you afraid I might loose it and strangle her?" he growled.

And Valjean, simply held his gaze, not wavering at all.

"Yes."

His straight face startled Javert, but only for a moment.

"I won´t." he claimed, resuming the glare. "Where´s her room?"

Valjean didn´t answer. He simply held his gaze. Once again, as if he could break Javert´s determination, by showing how less Javert could break _him_ with _his_ stare. Ridiculous.

Eventually Marius took it upon himself to break the silence. He cleared his throat, and stepped forward.

"I´ll show you."

**...**

Javert was prepared for everything when he entered the room. From a raging mad woman to a glaring mask full of hate. From a monster to a beast, all shades and variations a human mind could think of. He still had the mental image in his mind, of her standing before the window, face hard as a stone while the shine of the fire danced on her skin. The way he´d seen her through those bars, over the muzzle of her gun. And there´d been nothing in her eyes but pure hate. This and only this did he expect to see now.

What he got to see instead was something totally different though.

The gaze that met him when he entered, was clear and sane, and hadn´t he known any better he would have taken her for a totally normal woman. Someone he would have been startled to find locked away. She sat on that bed like a sleeping beauty, innocent and helpless, as if she had just woken up, to find herself in the strangest place. And the way she looked at him, she seemed to expect from him to explain all this to her.

But then her gaze changed, and with the recognition came the hate again. Her glare was as cold as he remembered it, and for a moment his believe in the natural order of things was restored.

Valjean entered the room, right at his heels. Like a prison guard who had to watch over this meeting of the criminal with her lawyer. Only that it was Javert who was the considered hostile, wasn´t he?

The gaze of the woman changed, the instant she saw Valjean. Her glare fell, and the disbelieve was written all over her face. No, it cried out, in total silence. This couldn´t be. He was supposed to be dead. She had killed him. She had seen it. The fire. He hadn´t come out.

But he was here, she could see that, clear as light. And there was nothing she could do to change that.

This simple truth again stirred up the hate in her, and all her anger broke free in one big rush. Her face, so far in plain denial, changed again, from one second to the next, and transformed into a mask of hate. A vicious grimace of madness and rage. Like a cat that aimed for an opponent, she reached out her claws, ready to attack Valjean and kill him with her bare hands. Her scream was more a feral hiss, but it ended as abruptly as it had started, when Javert grabbed her wrists.

She fought – of course she fought – but his grip was iron and she was after all only a small woman. In the end she understood that she was weaker, that she had no chance to win. But nothing in her gaze was any better when she glared at him. But that was all right. Javert´s glare was just as hateful.

"How could you do it?" he asked her. And all she did was stare at him, still so full of hate.

Javert increased the grip around her wrists.

"HOW … COULD YOU DO IT?" he yelled at her, finally making her wince. "TELL ME!"

For a moment, everything was silent. And her stare was just a little less intense. Something else had joined the hate. Was it fear? No, she didn´t fear him. He could have crushed her wrists between his hands, she still wouldn´t have feared him. No, what he saw now, was more like … desperation. Desperation about the knowledge that her plan had failed. That she had lost and would get no other chance, ever again, to kill those that she hated so much.

And upon this revelation, her mask crushed down at last, and she broke out in the most desperate tears Javert had ever seen. Her whole body slacked away from him, as if all the tension she had build up, to attack Valjean, had left her within seconds. Still Javert wouldn´t let go. She _would _answer him. That was why he was here.

"How could _you_?" she cried, almost too quiet for him to understand. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and then she took a deep breath. "HOW COULD _YOU_ ?!" she screamed into his face. Her breath was shaking, just like her body. "He was my life." her voice quivered. "My life."

She almost broke down in his grip, shaken by her sobs. Yet, she stayed on her feet. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not even the pain Javert caused with his iron grip. And all Javert did was watching her, stoic, like he´d once in his life watched prisoners suffer without emotion, not caring at all if they were in pain. Because they had brought all of this on themselves.

The woman stopped sobbing, to look up at him, flashing. And when she spoke again, her voice was only a whisper, sharp and seething.

"He was my life. Do you even know what that means?" she took another breath, and shouted the words at him. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!"

Javert´s face remained a stone. And that at last seemed to break her down. When her sobs came this time, they didn´t go away. This time, she didn´t seem able to stop anymore, and in the end Javert let go of her, allowing her to drop down, onto the bed, shaken by her uncontrollable sobs. She cried because she´d failed. The one thing she´d lived for, the death of all the men who were responsible for her love´s death. She had tried to avenge him and she had failed.

Javert tried not to look at Valjean, but something just drew his gaze to his. And what he saw there was not fun. _Is this what you wanted to see, Antoine?_

Stubbornly avoiding his gaze wouldn´t stop Valjean from following him back outside, still gazing so queryingly. But it was Cosette´s gaze that drew Javert´s attention. The way she watched the crying woman in the room, even harder now than she had looked before. There was no pity there. No sympathy at all. This woman had tried to kill her father, and she knew that. And that was _all_ she knew.

Still Javert could see the struggle inside her, hidden well, but not well enough, against this little voice in her. A voice that probably sounded like Valjean. A voice that tried to tell her, that yes, even this woman deserved pity on some level.

"I hope you searched the room before you locked her in there." he spoke. "Anything she could use to set a fire must be taken away."

"Don´t worry." Valjean quietly locked the door again. "I considered that, long before you woke up."

Oh. Of course. God, sometimes he hated this man.

"Good." he clung to his well preserved police demeanor, and turned to Marius. "Don´t give her any candles when it turns dark." he instructed him, as if he were a rookie officer. "Nothing. Understood?"

"Of course." the boy nodded, only a little startled to be addressed like that, and Javert glanced about. Why the hell were they all watching him like this? As if _he_ had been the one who´d acted crazy in there. As if he´d made a fool of himself without noticing it.

For a moment he considered keeping up his act. He´d made an art out of it in all his years of service. To keep his dignity by bellowing more orders, and making people flinch. Only those days were long gone and in this company bellowing orders was no option anyway.

No, there was no fight here that he could win. And that was probably the worst of it all.

Fighting he understood. Fighting was easy. It was simple. But this … he didn´t even know what _this_ was. In the end he did the only thing he could do. He chose the tactical retrieve and left them as they were, without another word. He needed to get out. He needed fresh air.

The garden was separated by a small wall, neatly done from roughly worked field stones, topped by a straight concrete cover. Behind it there was the section that held the rose bushes and apple trees. Some birds were singing in the distance but beside that, the only sound came from the wind, rustling in the leafs.

Javert gazed over all of this, and couldn´t help but ask himself, what the hell had happened these past few days. He couldn´t even remember anymore. It was all like a huge blur. A fog in his mind, as if he´d woken up from a strange nightmare. Maybe he was still in it.

The trees just kept rustling and no answer was coming his way. He closed his eyes and just breathed. Breathed until his mind stopped spinning. God, what a mess his life had become. And in this moment he couldn´t help but wonder: would he have chosen a different path if he had known all this a year ago? Did he ever even have a choice?

From somewhere behind him, he could hear the faint sounds of footsteps, approaching cautiously. He didn´t need to look around, to know who it was. And right now he was just too exhausted to object against his presence.

Valjean stepped up to his side, and leaned against the wall, as if he just happened to pass by here, after a stroll.

Javert didn´t look at him. He took a breath, exasperated. "What do you want to hear from me?"

Valjean only shook his head. He too seemed tired. He too didn´t even look at him.

"Nothing." he sighed. "I don´t want to hear anything. Sometimes there´s nothing left to say, I guess."

Javert lifted himself up from the wall. It seemed to be quite a task to carry the weight of his own body.

"What do we do about her?" he asked, earning a startled glance from Valjean.

"You´re asking me?"

She tried to kill _you_, Javert thought to himself, and somehow it wasn´t necessary for him to speak it out. Valjean reacted just as if he had.

He turned around, propping himself on the wall and gazed over the garden. His mood didn´t seem to get better from the nice view though.

"I´m flattered that you think I always have all the answers." he said, and shook his head. "But the truth is, I don´t know anything." His gaze went slack, as he gazed into the distance. He seemed tired, sad, desperate. "What did we do wrong, Antoine? What was our crime?"

Javert tried to read in his eyes, but couldn´t find an answer there. He really meant that, didn´t he? Didn´t he know by now that there were no answers?

"I know what _I_ did wrong." he told him instead, and of course Valjean understood. While he never understood anything, but these things he always instantly caught.

"You have nothing to blame yourself for." he told him, of course.

"I don´t?"

"You could have died."

"I let you die first. I would have deserved it."

"I wasn´t dead."

"For me you were. And this was my fault. For leaving you behind, for not being there, for …"

"Antoine." the gentle tone, made him flinch, and stop at last. Valjean had stepped closer, just one step, but it was enough. He shook his head. "Don´t." That was all he said.

Javert scowled. "It´s true." he insisted. "I failed. And you payed the price."

"I … If I would have known how far you would go …"

"Stop this." Javert demanded, defensively now, almost annoyed, but Valjean was determined.

"When I saw what you did to …"

"I said st …"

"WOULD YOU AT LEAST LET ME FINISH THE SENTENCE ?!" the old con bellowed, furious. "I let you speak now you let _me_ speak, understood?"

Javert skipped back. Wow. All right. "I hear you."

Valjean nodded – Good! – and composed himself. It seemed he needed quite some inner strength to collect his thoughts, before he could start speaking.

"I know the … fact that we´re standing here together is pretty weird in the first place." he began. "But I still want to say this. I appreciate your companionship. A lot. And I would not know what I would have done if you hadn´t been there. Because you´re right, I am old. And a fool. And I´m not all right with Cosette moving out just like this. I´m not. I never was. She´s always been there, in all those years and now all the sudden, I go to bed, and I still check her room, only to find it empty."

The old con fought some tears for a moment, and upon seeing this Javert started to feel really uncomfortable. Thanks God Valjean fought it down, almost viciously, and continued.

"But I know this is the way of the world. That children have to move on and that I have to let her go …"

"Valjean?"

"And I let her go, no matter how hard it is, but the point …"

"Valjean."

"The point is, Antoine." Valjean insisted on finishing his speech. "That I wouldn´t have known what to do with myself, if I had been alone … in all of this. I would have died. I know I would have. But I didn´t and that is because of you."

Javert snorted. "Don´t be ridiculous."

"It´s true." the other man insisted, totally serious. "You´ve been a friend to me and … investigating this case with you … I´ve felt alive. And happy, because of it. I … I just wanted you to know this."

Javert narrowed his eyes.

"And I couldn´t have forgiven myself." Valjean continued. "If something would have happened to you, because of my lie. When I saw what you did, the things you went through because of me …"

"Don´t flatter yourself, Valjean." Javert at last interrupted him. "I didn´t do this for you. I did it because I had no choice. I was on this mad woman´s list too, and even though I´m not police anymore, I still have a duty to hold up justice. Even if some of the police are not doing this anymore. But I do. And I take that very serious."

Valjean only stood there, smiling at him. "Of course, you do."

Javert scoffed. He wasn´t sure how much more of this he´d be able to take. "Let´s stop this ridiculous self pity and move on." he demanded, therefor. "Self pity won´t solve anything, and you know that. This is not the man I knew."

Valjean was startled. Something about those words seemed to have ruffled him. The way it had ruffled Javert, back then, when he´d heard Valjean´s voice in his mind, telling him those exact same words. God, was he losing his mind?

"And how is the man you knew?" Valjean finally asked him, uncertain, and Javert scowled.

"The man I knew was a fighter. He doesn´t give up because of some setbacks. There´ll always be people that are left behind, Valjean, and we won´t be able to save them. There´ll always be misery in this world. But _that´s just the world_." Valjean spoke those last words along with him, like a sleepwalker, as if he´d just now remembered a long forgotten poem he´d once learned as a kid.

He nodded now, regarding Javert with something like wonder. As if Javert had just told him a very profound secret, one that he had known for a long time, but never really payed attention to. This and even more was conveyed only in his nodding.

Eventually he smiled again. This typical smile of his, when he wanted to say thank you but couldn´t quite bring himself to form the words. Javert nodded back, not quite able to say, you´re welcome either. But neither of them seemed to need the respective wording.

"You´re right." Valjean composed himself. "Of course. You´re right."

Javert only grunted in return. "Of course I´m right. It´s about time you learn that."

Again Valjean smiled, warmer this time, more grateful, and took a deep breath, as if to steady himself.

"There´s something else that must be done." he said, and something in his eyes had returned to the well known determination, Javert remembered from this man. "We need to go someplace. And we must hurry."

* * *

**I don´t write for reviews, but it would still be nice of you to tell me if I´m still doing well. If no one tells me the truth, I will just assume I´m perfect :) So don´t hold back. It only helps me to get better. Plus a review also encourages me to update faster.**


	10. One last Choice

**One Last Choice**

The little farm lay deep in the woods, merely a few miles from the town where their investigation had started only a week ago. It made sense, Javert figured. According to what the dying woman had told Valjean. The cottage and little barn were hidden from everyone who didn´t know about it. A perfect hideout. Barely even existent to the world. And that was exactly how it looked. It was taken over by lots of vegetation, the grass was so high one could expect a buck to hide in it, and the whole place didn´t seem as if it had been maintained at all for at least a year or longer.

"You sure this is the place?" he asked, dismounting the fiacre.

"It was _your_ map." Valjean countered, and looked about, searching. "She said her daughter went here." he mumbled, as if to convince himself. "She has to be here."

Javert eyed the place, and eventually decided that looking around like an idiot was useless. If they wanted to find someone here, they had to do some actual searching. So he started moving, ready to comb the place, methodically, just the way he knew it, to find his hiding criminal. But Valjean held him back.

"No." his eyes were begging. "Let … You´d scare her. Let me try …"

Of course his first instinct was to object. But then he saw Valjean´s eyes, and something about this gaze just made him take a step back. Yes, he assumed he could allow him to do it his way. This time.

Valjean thanked him, silently, and turned to face the little farm, stepping forward as if he had to address an audience standing all around.

"Michelle!" he called out. "Please, do not be afraid. My name is Jean. This is Antoine. We´re not here to hurt you. Your … your mother asked me to come here and find you. And to bring you home safely."

Javert realized, just then, that Valjean´s breath was shaking. He hadn´t realized how important this was for him.

"I´m sorry I have to tell you …" the old man struggled to get it out. "I´m so sorry I have to tell you … that your parents are dead." he finally forced himself to say it. "I´m sorry, I … I couldn´t save them. I tried to save your mother but …"

Javert reached out, touching Valjean´s shoulder, but the old con glanced at him, so desperate, his eyes pleading. _Don´t stop me_. _I have to say this._

And so Javert stepped back.

"She asked me to find you." Valjean continued, speaking to the distant cottage and barn, to the high grass, the trees and bushes all around. To everyone and no one. "And I promised." he struggled to keep his voice even. "I … I gave her my word, that I would find her daughter and save her, where I couldn´t save _her._" For a moment he halted, laughing quietly. "I seem to have a habit of that."

Javert couldn´t help the little sad smirk that came to him.

"I know you have no reason to believe me." Valjean went on. "You have seen enough cruelty to never trust anyone ever again. Your mother told me, Michelle. She told me everything. That you saw it. What these men did to your uncle. No fourteen year old girl should ever have to see such a thing. But because you saw this, you could tell the police and bring these men to justice. This is why they try to find and stop you. This is why your parents hid you out here. And they were right. God, they were right." He took a breath, to steady himself. "But I will not allow them to do to you, what they did to your parents. You hear me? I´ll protect you from them. I promise. I swear. I swear to you that we will find these men and bring them to justice. But we can´t do it on our own, we´ll need your help. Because you´re the only one … the only one who ever saw them."

"Valjean."

"So please, Michelle, come out and show yourself."

"Valjean."

"You´re safe here. No one will harm you."

"Jean." Javert gently turned his friend around, forced him to look him in the eyes. God, he was so confused. So desperate. "She´s not here." Javert told him. "It´s over."

Tears were glistening in Valjean´s eyes, as he shook his head. "No. No, she must be … Her mother said …"

But there was no one there. Everything was just quiet. Only some birds were chirping in the woods, not caring at all about this lonely old man, who´d been shouting over this abandoned field these last five minutes. No human being was around here, anywhere. Maybe there hadn´t been anyone and wouldn´t be, for a very long time.

And in the end even Valjean had to understand this fundamental truth. At last he had no choice but to accept that, yes, Javert was right. That the girl he´d come here to find was gone. That this time he wouldn´t be able to keep his promise to the dying mother.

"You tried." Javert said. "You did what you could. But not even you can save everyone."

Valjean was stubborn, even now, blinking his tears away. He would not simply accept or give in. Javert did not know what to do. He felt something still unfamiliar to him. Pity.

"Maybe she´ll make it." he offered, in his lack of anything better to say. "Maybe she´ll get away."

Valjean looked at him, and gave a dry chuckle. "Didn´t you say they never do?"

That´s right, keep objecting to everything I say. Even when I try to comfort you, you bastard.

"I could be wrong."

When Valjean laughed out this time, it ended in a sob. Surely not his intention, but it was out, and Javert had seen it, and nothing Valjean would say now could ever take that back. Regarding this fact, he held himself up pretty well, Javert had to give him that. He nodded at him, gratefully, hoping but so full of regret, that not even Javert could shield himself from the impact it had on him. And looking back on these last few days, he found it astoundingly easy, to pull him in now, for a comforting hug.

"You tried." he said again, and this time he meant it. "You did so much."

It wasn´t awkward, not at all how he´d imagined it. Holding Valjean like that, offering his shoulder, now that the other man needed it. It seemed almost natural. As if nothing of this could even remotely be embarrassing. And what startled him even more, was the fact that he didn´t feel exposed, that he was not afraid Valjean could use this against him one day. To mock. Or tease.

He simply held him, offering his support, his, yeah, friendship. And it was all right. As simple as that. And for a moment, he just wanted to stay in this, no matter how painful his chest was tightening. Because this was real, yet so much outside of every version of reality, that he just knew, he would probably never have this again, as soon as they were both back to normal.

Please, dear God in heaven.

When they parted he searched Valjean´s face, but there was nothing strange. Only this tiredness, this still lingering sadness, and yes, gratefulness. Gratefulness for Javert´s presence, for his support, for his friendship. Dear God, was it really possible after all, that something like that existed? Had they really gone through this hell that had been their life, only to reach this point where they learned it could have been different all along?

"Come on now." he padded Valjean´s shoulder, gently turning him around, to leave. "Let´s go home."

The old man nodded, ready to follow. To leave this lost case behind, and move on at last. To finally go back home. Back to their lives. Maybe the next case. But surely the next day first and foremost. Back to Valjean sulking about Cosette spending more time with her fiance and new family than with him. Back to Valjean trying to make Javert participate in silly social activities. Back to Javert trying to get Valjean to finally grow up. In a word: Life.

The small fiacre was just ahead, the little horse turning its head to them as if it was already waiting for them to finally come and get out of here. And that was the moment when they heard it. Nothing loud, just a brief sound of wood scraping. But it didn´t sound like a natural sound from the forest. It sounded like a door.

When they turned back around, neither of them knew what to do or say, upon seeing this young red haired girl, cautiously emerging from the shed, to meet them.

**...**

"They dropped me off only a few miles away from our village." Michelle told them, pouring some tea into ridiculously old cups.

A strand of her bushy red hair hung into her eye, but she didn´t even seem to notice. Her sad and serious expression made her look much older than she was. Not the vulnerable fourteen years she´d lived on this cruel earth.

"Mother told me to go here on my own. It´s the old farm of my grandfather. After his death our family only got here once a year, to keep it from completely falling apart. Father said, they´d arrange our escape … and pick me up after a week. If they shouldn´t come … I should … I should try to find my way on my own." The girl set down the kettle, visibly fighting her tears. "When Mama sent me away, I somehow knew … I just knew they wouldn´t …" she hit her fist down on the table, making even Javert flinch. "This is all my fault."

"No." they both said at once, but Javert´s objection was louder, much to Valjean´s surprise.

"None of this is your fault, girl." he told her, maybe a little too rough. "These men are to blame, and only them."

"If I hadn´t seen them …"

"They already were after your family, kid." he talked over her. "They used your uncle for their trades and whether he knew it or not, he was a danger to them. That´s why they killed him. And they had planned to kill you and your family in any case. That you saw them is something you should only regard as a sign from God. A sign that tells you to fight. For you are the one who can stop them. The only one who can avenge what they did to your family. And everyone else they ever hurt in this world."

The girl looked at him, with her watery eyes, and he just held her gaze. It was more difficult than to hold Valjean´s stubborn gaze at times, but eventually he managed it to make her see. She nodded, in agreement, maybe even a little grateful. The tears were still there, but he could tell that she was less desperate now. Determination had taken over. She would do what was necessary.

"I thought you don´t believe in God." Valjean uttered to him in a low voice, while the girl was busy drying her eyes. Javert only looked at him, but didn´t say a word.

"We will take you back with us." he told the girl. "You´ll be safe. Can you describe the men you saw?"

Michelle composed herself, straightening her back and nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"I have a very good memory. I could tell you every wrinkle, every hair … on them." For a moment, she simply stared into the distance, as if she could see it right now. "I can describe them, monsieur. Don´t worry about that."

Javert couldn´t help. He felt a ridiculous pride of this girl. "All right. You´ll describe it to someone who will draw a sketch of these men. I guess Vidocq will know someone who can do that. And after that …"  
It was the distant sound of approaching hoofs that made him halt mid-sentence. Someone was coming and fast. Valjean tensed too and was by his side at the window immediately. They could see them. Too many of them, galloping down the path that led to the farm. In less than a minute they´d be there.

Their hands went down to their guns simultaneously.

"Down." Javert ordered, and the girl ducked under the table, as if she already knew that drill.

"How did they find us?" Valjean hissed through his teeth and as if his question had triggered it, there was a flash in Javert´s mind. He closed his eyes, cursing himself.

"They probably followed us." he glanced at the girl, as if he could apologize for giving her away, even now.

"Can we get away?" Michelle asked, but the riders were already there. Javert could not count them so quickly, he had to keep his head down. But it was at least ten or more. They dismounted their horses, and from what he could see they were all armed. They split up, methodically, to search the place.

"How could they follow us without being seen?" Valjean hissed, frustrated and totally pointless.

"It only takes one or two." Javert answered anyway. "Probably two. After they knew where we stopped one rode back to alarm the others, while one stayed behind to watch us." He met his gaze. "They know exactly where we are."

"Then what are they doing?" Valjean asked, and Javert had to admit: it _did_ appear as if they were searching the place. But only for one who didn´t know better.

"They´re surrounding us." Javert sighed. "Making sure we won´t get away."

He could see in Valjean´s eyes that he knew very well what that meant. He must have heard about the smugglers too. The attack on their transport to prison, no bodies left behind, to eliminate every chance to ever investigate the case. Because this was what these guys did with their loose ends. They cut them, and then dismantled them and let them vanish forever. No witnesses. Except for this young girl.

The old con glanced at Michelle, still under the table, watching them quietly. And upon seeing her big waiting eyes, he too sighed, deeply. It was that final moment, when a man at last understands that he is facing the one last battle he can never win, no matter what he does. Valjean turned to look at Javert.

"She is the one who has to get away."

Javert read in his eyes everything he had never believed to possibly see in another man´s eyes. A silent understanding between them, one that didn´t need words to speak out what needed to be said. He was right. Of course he was right. And there was only one way to do this. Only one choice left to make.

Javert turned to Michelle.

"Can you sneak away unseen?" he asked. When she didn´t answer, he got louder: "If these men were distracted, only for a moment, could you manage it to sneak away and escape?"

The girl nodded. "Y-yes. I could but …"

"Good." Javert nodded at Valjean. "We´ll hold them off. Draw their attention. You run, Michelle. As fast as you can. And try not to be seen. Get to Paris. Find a man named Eugene Vidocq. He lives in la Rue Boisonade. He´s not police but he´ll help you. You´ll be safe there. You understand?"

Michelle once again nodded, quickly, tears swelling up in her eyes. And Javert looked at Valjean again. He almost didn´t know what to say.

"I wish I didn´t have to ask you." he managed at last, but Valjean´s response came without hesitation.

"I won´t leave you."

Javert grabbed his gun tighter. It hurt. More than it should. "This is not how this should have ended."

"I know."

They turned back to the girl together. "Get ready, Michelle."

She was on her feet instantly, obeying as if she was trained to follow orders like this. Under the window that faced the backside of the farm, she remained, ready to open it on demand. And once again Javert met the gaze of Valjean. So knowing, so ready, and yet just as scared as he was.

They both knew they had no chance. Not against so many. Not with only one bullet for each of them. Not as soon as they went out there, to attack, to divert their attention, just long enough for Michelle to make a run for it. Hoping they´d live long enough for her to make it out unseen. Hoping that these men out there would not hunt her down after they killed the two of them.

Javert closed his eyes, his head spinning.

When he opened them again, Valjean was right there with him. And his smile was almost solemn.

"I see you on the other side."

But Javert shook his head. "I doubt it." his voice broke. "I doubt that I´ll be granted there."

The smile in Valjean´s eyes faded, replaced by something dead serious.

"I´ll find you." he said. "Wherever you´ll be. I promise."

A shout from outside made Javert cringe, and focus again, despite everything. They still had something to do before they could lie down and die. And they would have to do it now.

"Run." he ordered the girl and the instant he opened the door and shot his pistol, she opened the window, climbed out and just ran. Ran for her life.

The sounds of the fight echoed all around her, shots ringing out way too loud. One. Two. A few in a row. But as she reached the treeline, it was a raging thunder. Too many shots at once, only for a moment. And after that … nothing but silence.

**...**

Michelle ran, and ran, she ran until she couldn´t go any further, crying all the way. Tears of fear, of pain, of guilt. All these deaths, and now it was all up to her.

She went on. No matter how badly her feet ached, how much her legs shook. She ran and ran, stumbled through the woods, because she had to, because she had promised to make it. And she would keep that promise, so she kept running, until she finally, finally reached the city.

Leaving the safety of the woods needed a lot of courage and stepping out into the open was the hardest thing she ever had to do. But she did it, and vanished in the crowd of the streets of Paris. She had no idea how she found the house, or how she made it there alive, but when the door finally got opened, the elderly woman looking down on her was startled. And yet, somehow, Michelle could tell, that she knew, instantly, why she had come to their door.

She turned to call over her shoulder. "Eugene!"

And in that moment, at last, Michelle allowed herself to break down and cry.

**...**

Vidocq knew it was too late, even when they rode down the path, leading to the small farm. It didn´t matter anymore that they´d come here as fast as possible. He could see the blood even from afar.

There were no bodies. Just like last time. Only the blood. But that sight was more than he needed. And if there was anything that could at least remotely console him, then it was the fact that evidently more than just two men had died here. At least they had managed it to take some of these bastards with them.

Jacques stopped his horse beside him. And Vidocq could hear the fiacre, rolling to a stop just behind them.

"Keep them away." he told Jacques, his voice strangely horse. Damn he had known it was a bad idea to allow Cosette and Marius to tag along. No matter how determined they´d been, he should have forbidden it. But seeing how she demanded to be let through now, just proved that there was nothing he could have done, to keep her from following.

"What is it?" he heard her voice. "Let me through. I need to …"

Vidocq turned around just in time to see her and Marius stop short at the sight that already left him pale and shaken.

"No." she shook her head, skipping back until her fiance caught her in his arms. She fought him, almost fiercely, as if he was the enemy.

"No. NO!"

Marius would not let go until she finally succumbed to the arms holding her, simply crying. And all Vidocq could think was: Finished.

**...**

The ride home was quiet, like a mourning march. And somehow Vidocq believed he could still hear Cosette´s sobs, even through the walls of the carriage.

"What do you think?" Jacques asked him, quietly, from out of nowhere.

And Vidocq shook his head. "I know what I _want_ to think." he sighed, heavily.

"She said they stood alone against ten." Jacques recalled. "Or more."

"I know."

Vidocq glanced back at the fiacre, sighing again. He´d so hoped for a different ending.

"You think there´s any chance we´ll ever find the bodies?" he asked, but Jacques looked at him as if he were crazy.

"We have their description. The girl can identify those men. We should focus on that."

Vidocq nodded. He was right. Of course he was right. At least Jean and Javert had faced their end together … and with dignity.

"Yeah, we need to finish this." he faced straight ahead. "Once and for all." It was about time these bastards were brought to justice.

**...**

They took the girl to the police prefect, right the next morning. When they stepped out of the carriage Cosette was holding Michelle´s hand – or maybe the girl was holding hers. Maybe they needed each other in this. Valjean had been Cosette´s father but this little girl had been the one who´d been with him just before he died. And when it was up to Cosette, she would probably even take the girl in, only to honor her father´s sacrifice. And maybe that was even a good idea.

**...**

It took a whole day until the questioning was done. They had the drawings, they had Michelle´s testimony, it would be enough. The arrests would happen soon, to bring those men Michelle accused before the court, to process them. With her testimony they would go away for the rest of their lives. And still Vidocq could not quite feel the victory, like he was used to feel it, when a case was solved. This one case had cost far too much.

He had seen a lot of death and unfairness in all his years. But watching how Cosette was grieving, all alone, despite the presence of her fiance and the girl, was painful. And if this hadn´t been enough he felt still restless with this case, and would stay restless for a while.

**...**

"I would like for you to go away someplace safer than here." Vidocq faced Cosette _and_ the girl. "Just until the trial. We can protect you here but just to be on the safe side …"

"I understand." Cosette sounded hollow saying this.

"And …" the spy felt uncomfortable. "It might be good for you … you know … to be away from here. Right after … I-It just might help you … to let go."

"I understand." The same tone. The same empty look in her eyes. But somehow he could tell that she indeed knew what he meant.

**...**

"We will be with you all the way." Jacques promised them. "We´ll make sure you reach the destination safely."

The rough man looked down on Michelle and smiled at her, probably to make her feel better. But even Cosette could see that he was not as sure as he pretended to be.

She didn´t say a word, just took Michelle´s hand and got into the carriage. It was time to leave this city. Maybe even for good. If she was honest she didn´t plan to come back here. There were too many memories here. In those streets. The streets she had used to walk on her father´s hand, giving alms to the poor. Streets where he had told her stories about fairies and knights and princesses, as she grew up. Streets where she saw the dark face of Javert one day, and her father´s scared eyes, before he´d dragged her away.

She closed her eyes, willing the image away, angry at herself all the sudden. _Stop thinking about this,_ she scolded herself. _It won´t bring him back. _

"Tell me how he was." Michelle´s voice startled her up. Her eyes were so open on Cosette, so pleading, and apologetic. "Your father." the girl clarified. "I only knew him so briefly."

Cosette felt how her heart tightened, threatening to break her down, and meeting Marius´ gaze, so sympathetic, all she could feel was sorry. For this girl that clearly felt guilty for something that was never her fault. She reached out a hand, and gently caressed her red hair.

"He was the most gentle and … generous man I ever knew." she told her. "If there was anything he could give to make someone happy … he would give it, without a second thought."

Michelle only nodded, solemnly. "This is exactly how he gave his life for me." she said, casting down her eyes. And Cosette believed her heart must break.

"He would have wanted us to live." she raised Michelle´s chin. "To take this gift he made for us and turn it unto something good, and lasting. Only this way can we honor what he gave for us. His sacrifice." And there she halted, unable at last to deny the mistake in this. So she corrected it. "Theirs." she said. "Their sacrifice."

Michelle looked at her, startled, just for a moment, as if she knew exactly how difficult this admittance must have been for her. But in the end she nodded, trying to be strong.

"I will." she said. "I promise. I will do what I must, to make these men pay. For the lives they took … from your family and mine."

Cosette felt the tears in her own eyes, and quickly took Michelle´s hands in hers. She placed a kiss on the girl´s head, and brought her own forehead to a rest on Michelle´s, closing her eyes, in a silent prayer.

"Yes." she whispered. "This is what we´ll do."

And that way they stayed, in silence, for a long time.

**...**

The sudden stop of the fiacre woke her up again, from her sad slumber, the girl in her arms. From outside she could hear Vidocq´s voice, and some others.

Marius peered out the window. "There´s police out there." he told them and Cosette tensed. After a few more exchanged words, that she couldn´t understand, the fiacre kept moving. Marius craned his neck even more. "It seems they´re escorting us."

"Escort us? Where?"

But that was something Marius of course couldn´t answer.

The street passed by as they drove around a corner and through a gate halfway down the way. They drove into the yard of an old factory as it seemed. Cosette began to feel uneasy.

The fiacre stopped, and all the sudden there were shouts from outside. Vidocq and Jacques. And then someone tore open the door and grabbed Marius. He got dragged out, and Cosette and Michelle were next. Someone pushed them down, to their knees, and from the corner of her eyes she saw Vidocq and Jacques, kneeling in the dirt, cuffed like criminals that were about to be executed. A man with a gun was standing behind them, another one before them. There were four in the whole, four men in police uniforms. And seeing this, Cosette understood with sudden clarity what was happening.

No!

"You can´t do this." Jacques cried. "People saw you with us. They´ll ask questions."

"They will see us again." the man pointed a gun at them. "Trying to catch the men who attacked us and killed you. Unfortunately they´ll be too fast for us."

"You son of a …" Vidocq tried to get up, but the man in his back, stroke him down, brutally.

"Believe me." the man before Vidocq spoke, aiming his gun at him. "Getting rid of your meddling ass will be a special treat to me, Vidocq. But business first." he looked over his shoulder, and ordered: "Kill the girl."

"No!" Cosette cradled the shivering child in her arms, protectively, as the man pulled a big knife and advance upon her.

Beside them Marius jumped up, attacking the man that tried to pull Michelle away, and for a moment he actually managed it to startle him. His partner came to help only a second later though, pulled Marius back and knocked him down.

Cosette winced, and tightened her hold around Michelle. The man with the knife was back. And this time he didn´t waste his time, trying to drag Michelle away from her. He simply raised his knife, to let it come down wherever it wanted.

"No, please, don´t." Cosette pulled Michelle back even more, but someone stepped up behind her, holding her in place. "Please, don´t do this, I´m begging you. Oh God, please."

The blade glistened in the sunlight, as it came down. And that was the moment, when a shout disturbed the attack.

"Hey!" the voice of a boy, just at the verge of his puberty vocal change, echoed over the backyard.

Cosette skipped aside, and the knife of the startled man missed her about a few inches.

"What are you guys doing there?" the boy cried, and Cosette caught a glimpse of something rushing away, behind the fiacre.

"Pascal?"

"Who´s this kid?" the man behind Cosette asked.

"Who cares." the knife wielder cried. "Just get him."

And with that the man holding Cosette was gone, pursuing Pascal, who was dodging corners and boxes and barrels, still shouting at the top of his lungs.

"I don´t think this´s what police´s supposed to do! Is it, mon ami?" he stopped just behind a barrel, just long enough to throw a glance at the leader of this gang.

"I know your face, buddy!" he shouted. "Think I should tell the chief of police what yer´all doing here? Don´t think he´d be too happy!"

A shot rang out, and missed him only about a few inches. Pascal stopped, shocked for a moment, and kept running a second later, avoiding the second shot that got fired at him, even closer than the first.

"No." Cosette cried. "Stop this."

But of course they wouldn´t. The third man fired his gun, and this time Pascal fell, landing in the dirt face first.

"Nooooo!"

The man with the knife turned back to Cosette, grabbing her hair. "And now …" he raised the knife.

"Son of a bitch!" Pascal´s voice was heavy with pain, but when Cosette looked, he was on his feet, reaching for the gate with one uninjured arm. And it was that sight that made the man with the knife halt.

The gate was open, Pascal fell back to the ground and a moment later all hell broke lose.

The gate got busted, half a dozen young police men storming in, shouting for their attackers to drop their weapons and surrender. And all Cosette knew was that between all this chaos, she suddenly heard her father´s voice, calling her name. And then he was there, with her, taking her into his arms, and for a moment she believed to have lost her mind.

"Papa?"

"Ah, Cosette!" he breathed, into her hair. "Oh thanks God. I´m so sorry. I´m sorry, Cosette."

Cosette saw over his shoulder, how the police – the real police – arrested those men that had almost killed them. She saw Vidocq and Jacques, getting up from the ground, just as startled as she was. She saw Marius, beside them, just waking up again. She saw Javert hobbling with one bandaged leg, leaning on a crutch, still wielding a gun. And as she met his gaze, she suddenly knew what had happened. She could practically see it before her eyes. How her Papa and Javert had left the little cottage, to stall for Michelle. How Javert got shot in the leg, going down, her Papa probably trying to protect him against these killers. How they got surrounded, outnumbered and with no chance to survive any longer, ready to take and accept their fate together … until this young police officer and his comrades had come to save them.

Oh God!

"It´s all right. It´s all right, Cosette. I´m here now."

Beside them, Michelle helped Marius sit up, both of them so confused upon seeing Valjean alive and well. And all Cosette could do was embracing his presence. Because he was alive. Alive! And this was real. Oh God. "Thank you. Thank you, oh dear God."

Her Papa cringed as she squeezed tighter, and she let go, afraid she might have hurt him. He held his side, smiling painfully. The smile he usually had when he tried to pretend everything was fine. He´d gotten hurt too!

"Billinger!" Javert roared over the place. "This kid needs a doctor."

Cosette turned her head, and saw the young officer look down on Pascal, nodding. "Get him into the fiacre!" he ordered. "Andros, you drive him."

And after this Cosette witnessed something she never believed to be possible. Javert, the man she never stopped seeing as a monster in human disguise, was gentle. He helped Pascal up, pressing something against the wound on his shoulder.

"It´s just a flesh wound." he said. "Maintain pressure."

"I did good, didn´t I?" Pascal was smiling widely. "You heard my shouts?"

Javert only rolled his eyes. "The whole city heard your shouts, kid." he said. "But yeah." the ex police man met the eyes of Cosette´s father. "I guess you did good."

"I hope you believe me now." Billinger then spoke, as if it was necessary to repeat something he had not managed to convince Javert about. "Some of us _can_ do the right thing, inspector. To serve justice."

Javert glanced about, at the police men that just got arrested by other police men – much younger than their dirty colleagues – and grunted. "Yeah." he said. "Some of you."

Cosette watched Billinger holding out a hand. "Maybe one day you´ll trust us again." he said. "And work _with_ not against us."

Cosette watched anxiously, if Javert would take that hand, wondering why this was so important. But of course Javert didn´t. Instead he looked at her father, as if this sight was much more important right now than anything Billinger had to say. And for the first time in her life, Cosette agreed with him.

"Yeah." Javert said, speaking to Billinger while his eyes never left Valjean. "Maybe one day."

And that promise was all the young officer would get from him today.

* * *

**Okay. The End. For now. If you want you can also read the Author´s Note, soon to come. But until then you can tell me what you think. Always happy about feedback.**

**And thanks for reading.**


	11. Author s Note

**Author´s Note**

Hello again. Great that you could make it. I was afraid to never see you again. But since we´re all here now, why not take some time and talk about the story? Shall we?

When I ended the first story with Vidoqc offering Valjean and Javert to work for him, I intended to leave it at that. An open ending that promised a future. But somehow that wasn´t enough. Not for me at least. I wanted to see how these two guys would work together, and what better way to do this than giving them their first case? I knew, no matter what, Javert would take over the role of the mentor, as if he had to teach Valjean how to act properly, and I don´t know how it was for you, but personally I had a lot of fun watching that.

But let´s start at the beginning. How to construct a case that´s good enough for a sequel? I personally learned a lot about story writing by watching movies (story telling is story telling, no matter how the audience receives it) So I tried to go back and look upon all the sequels that I had loved watching over the years. There are not many that are good, because let´s be honest, most sequels are merely made because the box office of the first movie was so great and the producers hope for more money. Consequently the stories tend to suck.

But there are a few that don´t fit this pattern, and those stories are good. As in really good. And why are they good? A few basic rules: They build on the strengths of the first movie and they raise the bar. Means bigger, faster, more exciting (or more mysterious) yet still thought through and clever enough to surprise the audience and leave them in a sense of awe.

_That´s_ what makes a story good. At least in my opinion.

But that is some task, you first have to try and accomplish. I hope I managed that, at least to a certain degree. The reviews remained rare this time, but if I may dare to judge myself: I think I didn´t do too bad. That´s the reason why I need reviews though. So I can actually know and hear a second opinion.

All right, back to the plot. I constructed the case around the last story. Bring back something that was already good in the first story and raise the bar. The first victim was inspired by a real case, that happened not too long, in my area. I read a newspaper article about a body that had been found in the woods, in pieces just like I described it.

The real investigation discovered the man had probably committed suicide and the dismantling of his body had been done by animals. But … for the story I left that out of course. Of course the man had been murdered and somehow Javert and Valjean would have to find the murderers. In order to hook Javert, I informed him right away, that the main suspects were the same people who were behind the conspiracy of story #1. Everything else developed from there.

Other than before, I didn´t have much storyline for Cosette, so I figured it would make sense for her to live on her own. And strangely enough, as soon as I suggested this to her, she was all for it. As if it was her own idea. Something about needing space and time on her own. I guess she accepted this suggestion of mine so easily because she´d never actually _been_ on her own since Valjean took her in.

I guess she needed to know, if she could take care of herself, without having her father around all the time, before she would spend the rest of her life with Marius. A transitional phase so to say. Or at least … that´s how I think she saw it. I never know _everything_ that makes a character do what they do.

But it definitely worked for me. With her out of the picture I could fully focus on Valjean and Javert, and I can tell you, those two are a treat all on their own. I especially loved writing their banters. There´s something unsaid between them, and that is a lot of fun, to watch and to write down.

But of course Cosette is still an important part of Valjean´s life, so she kept showing up. I figured she would try to prove to her father, that she could do things too. That´s the main reason why she went to this theater, and ended up watching a man getting killed.

Something I didn´t expect was Valjean and Marius starting to fight, when she told them what happened. I usually write scenes in the simplest way possible: Just put the characters in a room, and let them do their thing. Something _will_ happen. And man, something _did_ happen. There were so many layers to this one scene, so many things that were said, and even more that weren´t said, I could write a whole essay only about the psychology of everyone involved. But since this is not why we´re here, I´ll do us all a favor and skip this. Let´s just settle with: It´s one of my favorite scenes.

Another scene that was at least just as interesting and unexpected to me, was Javert´s reaction when he saw the hostage had been raped. I honestly have no idea why he reacted so strongly to this. One could speculate that he carries some old memories with him, about a similar case … but to be honest I don´t even want to know. Maybe he just can´t stand it to see a helpless person getting molested like that. I doubt we´ll ever know for sure. As you know the inspector doesn´t like to talk about personal things.

If that is an unsatisfying explanation for anyone, I can only apologize. But the truth is, even as the author of this story, I barely know anything at all about why the characters do what they do. I simply watch them and write it down. And that is also the reason why I can´t by anything in the world explain how Valjean and Javert ever became so close.

Sure, we all read the respective fanfics that go one way or the other, but in all honestly … which of those ever really feels realistic? Barely any. A few maybe. And I don´t pretend that my own story feels realistic to me. I found myself worried not too long ago, about the direction my story had taken. I wondered: Is this still right? Would that really happen? Isn´t that too much out of character?

I guess I´ll never know (except any of you has a totally different idea about their characters and wants to tell me) But you know … every time I ask myself this, all I need to do is remind myself of how I write a story. I never force a character to do anything, I never make anything happen just because I want to. I allow the story to decide what´s best and whatever the characters do, only happens because they want to. It never _was_ me and it never _will_ be.

So I believe it is quite all right actually. I think that Javert indeed would try to find a way to cope with everything that has happened, especially concerning Valjean and their past. Javert´s character has always been determined and just. I think it makes sense that he would try to incorporate the things that happened, into this new world he finds himself in.

He finally understands, at least to a certain degree, that what he believed to be the only truth in this world – the law – is in fact not the only truth. He build his life around serving the law, and that has now changed. He´s still doing the same things as before, serving, but it is not the law anymore. The law is still part of the picture but he now mainly serves justice. And he slowly starts to understand – and he knows that – that those are two different things. That those two concepts are not necessarily the same.

But that is exactly the point, he does know he has to learn, but he doesn´t know how. This way of serving is something he isn´t used to. But Valjean is. And that´s why I think he mostly relies on Valjean for exactly this point. As well as Valjean has to rely on him for all the rest. Javert has to teach him how to do these things – investigating, questioning people, and all that stuff – and Valjean has to teach him how to (mainly) look for justice, and not only for the law.

It´s not that Javert doesn´t know that. He does. And I think he really wants to change. But he has shielded his heart and his compassion almost all his life, has hidden it, suppressed it, and to let it out now, to let it guide him, more than his mind … I think that´s pretty hard for him.

In the end you could say they counterbalance each other, and as long as this works for both of them, things could be good. Don´t know if this explanation is good enough for you but it´s something _I_ can live with.

So if anyone questions the things Javert did, to find the man he thought had killed Valjean … can´t change that. Neither can I change what he did. And I wouldn´t want to anyway. It´s very poetic in my mind, that he became what Valjean once was – a prisoner – in his desire to avenge his death. People can do incredible things if they have to.

The last scene was some treat, I can tell you this. I went through so many different versions, I lost count. At some point I had them be attacked outside of Paris, in another version it happened at the docks or some back alley. None of these scenarios really worked for me. And then I suddenly remembered the boy, Pascal. Somehow the moment he came back into the picture, the scene suddenly worked. It´s strange sometimes.

One last thing about the POV of this story. I initially started to write it in various POV´s but the moment I started to switch back and forth between the present and Javert´s recollection of past events, I knew I had no choice but to stay with him, all the time. The story was told from his POV so I had no choice but to leave everyone else out of the picture. Until the very end. The only time this changes is after the standoff at the cottage in the wood, right before everything is over.

And now it is over. Or is it? I don´t want to give away too much, but I might have some more in store. So if you´re interested … stick around.

* * *

**Again, in order to know how good or bad I am, I need feedback. Be so kind and correct me in my delusion that I´m just THAT plain awesome, that it leaves you all speechless … :)**

**If any question remains that I didn´t address, don´t hesitate to ask.**

**And thanks for reading.**


End file.
